


Hostage of Fate

by WildWren



Series: Aethelflaed: Lady of the Mercians [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Book/TV crossover, Captive to lovers, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Graphic Violence, Historical Romance, Hostage Situation, Marital Abuse, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Power Imbalance, Slow Burn, Sword Song, The Last Kingdom Season 2, Threat of Rape, War violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 58,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWren/pseuds/WildWren
Summary: The Lady Aethelflaed has been taken captive by the Norse brothers Siegfried and Erik Thurgilson. A hostage in the bloody conflict between her father King Alfred and the foreign invaders, she does whatever she can to maintain her pride and composure in the face of her ordeal. But she is surprised by the man she finds in Erik, and soon a forbidden passion starts to build between them. She begins to realize that she must take her life and her love into her own hands, or risk returning to her cruel husband Aethelred. Can the lovers forge a new fate? Or do they walk the path of a fool's destiny? Only time will tell...A whopping, lovingly-rendered, epically slow burning retelling of Aethelflaed and Erik's story, with the hope for a new ending. Canon is crossover between the book (Sword Song) and the show (Season 2). Part One is now complete. The follow-up, called Fate's Lady, is complete, and Book Three - called Fate and Folly - is underway.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Erik Thurgilson, Aethelflaed/Erik
Series: Aethelflaed: Lady of the Mercians [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605529
Comments: 86
Kudos: 99





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This prologue contains big spoilers for "The Last Kingdom, Season 2" as well as "Sword Song" by Bernard Cornwell

Let me tell you a story. 

It is a story from the days of the Viking Age, from the time of King Alfred of Wessex, and Guthrum of East Anglia. It is a story from the time of the Danelaw, when Danes and Saxons lived, and traded, and married, and, most of all, fought with each other. It is a story from a time of war and strife in the kingdoms of Briton. 

The story I tell is a story of two brothers - Norsemen from across the cold whale road. Viking warriors they were. One was fair and the other dark. One was kind and the other cruel. They were men with ships, and some wealth, and no small amount of ambition. You may have said they were an unlikely pair. But they were bonded, by blood and battle love, and now they sought their glory on Saxon shores. 

The story I tell is also the story of a woman – a princess, the daughter of a king. This was a woman who was destined to be a great leader of men. A woman whose rank did not outstrip her worth, or her intelligence, or her strength. 

The story I tell is a story of war and of treachery. Most of all, however, it is a story of love. 

You have heard this story, you say. I thought so. More than once, perhaps? Like the songs, the stories change in their re-telling. The poet embellishes, cleaving and re-arranging the narrative to suit his own needs. He is like the Spinners in that way. He can weave a man's fate with word and meter. 

But stories are built on history. Like a wall of bricks, each row must be laid upon the last. The warp must be strung before the weaving can begin. And so we must know what paths our players have walked to enter our song, which events have pieced together the fate I tell tonight. You may wonder which story it is. 

_London_ , you ask, _how was it taken? How was it returned to the hands of the Saxons? Was it ceded by the Northmen as a trick and a ruse, claimed by the Saxons without a drop of blood spent? Or did men die shoulder to shoulder in the arch of Lud's Gate to win back those Roman walls?_

 _And the princess,_ you say. _How was she captured? Through a mischief-struck ploy of the fair-haired brother, his kind and clever mind turned astray by the promise of plunder? Or was she taken by chance, a hostage of fate, victim of a surprise attack on a smoke-strewn beach? Did she leave that slaughter in the cruel brother's ship, abandoned by husband and kin?_

The details are important, I know. You must know what blood has soaked the prelude of this story, what deeds our players have done. So, I will tell you. 

This is how it went: 

The city of London was reclaimed from the Norsemen through blood and bitter sacrifice. The Lords Uhtred and Aethelred won back the city and beat the fleeing Thurgilson brothers and their weary men onto the broken London bridge. They were allowed to leave limping, with their tattered crew, and one beloved ship called Wavetamer. 

Aethelflaed - for that is the name of our heroine - she was left safe for a time, if it was safety that she found in her husband's cruel jealousy. But the Norsemen still trawled the Temes estuary like sharks, pirating and threatening the peace of Alfred, who was Aethelflaed's father. So the fight continued. And our lady's husband Aethelred was as foolish as he was cruel, and he lost her to the Norsemen in an ambush attack. Reveling in a small victory with his warship fleet, he gathered his men to hold mass on a riverine beach and so did not see the sea wolves stalking him, ready to pounce. And so Aethelflaed was lost. 

She did not go to the cruel brother's ship – Siegfried was his name – with a child in her belly. Her womb was unwarmed by her husband's poison seed. But she came still bearing the bruises he had lain on her, her heart still heavy with the shame of a dark ritual in a cold London church, a torment meant to prove her purity. 

On Siegried's ship, she found a man who was not crippled by war wounds. He strode on two strong legs, although he bore a stout blade in place of a sword hand and wielded it with sharp ferocity. He had likely heard that Aethelred would bring his wife anywhere – even to the edge of battle, but he had not known the princess would be at the beach, so easily claimed. Now he sailed away from the battle-spent Mercians carrying a rich prize and grinning at his wicked luck. 

So we have the pieces, the players in position. The warp has been strung and the woolen thread spun. Soon our story will begin. 

_But what of the lovers?_ you ask. _What of their fate? Will Aethelflaed hang in a cage and watch her lover die before fleeing in a flame-fueled terror? Or will she keen for her gutted man on a half sunken ship in the cold dawn light? Which story is it?_

Both and neither. I thought that was clear. It is just beginning, and we shall discover its ending together, I reckon. Our players may walk down one of those well-trod paths, or they may diverge and forge new ground altogether. 

_But what of the truth? What really happened? You cannot just rewrite a story._ You are frustrated, listener, and we have not even begun. 

The Spinners weave the fates at the roots of Yggdrasil, and their weaving shapes our lives and our world, it is true. The fates are as inescapable as the dawn, and the cold death that awaits us. But the Gods live in another world, and the dead, too, habit elsewhere. So, perhaps there are others, and Yggdrasil's roots wind out into many worlds, where different fates are spun, and different threads are cut. 

I don't know. I'm just an old skald. I have little to my name, a poet of low regard. My time grows thin, and I spend my days listening to the dead. But the dead tell me that the stories can change. The stories do change. 

So let me tell you a story tonight and we shall see where it leads. 

Fate goes ever as it must.


	2. Chapter 2

Aethelflaed sat in stunned silence, cradling herself in a hollow near the Viking ship's bow. The brackish water felt thick on her skin and the air was heavy with the late summer heat. She was trying desperately to swallow her terror, blinking back tears ferociously and clenching her fists when she felt herself close to whimpering. She had already loosed her bladder in the horror of the fight and capture, and her thighs and shift were sticky with evidence of her fear. _Thank God you didn't loose your bowels_ , she thought to herself. She was already shamed enough. She would not give the Norse men any more cause to think her a foolish child.

Siegfried was near the back of the ship, speaking to the steersman, but he prowled up and down the ship's narrow length regularly to bully and jest with the oarsmen, and to growl and grin at Aethelflaed menacingly at he passed. She knew he was Siegfried because she had heard of his horrible knife hand, and the men all called him “Lord” or “the Earl” when they spoke of him. He cowed his crew with tempestuous rage and then cracked the tension with a well-placed joke. She could understand why some men were attracted to his battle-axe charisma. He was captivating, and terrifying.

Siegfried had held her in the aft of the ship as they had departed the the scene of the slaughter, immobilizing her with a hand as strong as an iron shackle and naked blade to her throat. He had wanted to show her off to the Saxon men who had to flee in their remaining boats or die. No one had turned to retrieve her. She was abandoned.

She knew they'd had no choice. She allowed this mercy even to Aethelred. They might as well have thrown themselves on their own swords as attempt to recover her: it would have had the same result. So now she sat, huddled and stinking below the watchful eye of the bow's lookout and two other stiff-faced, gray-eyed Danes, or Norseman, or whoever they were, and she tried not to look as afraid as she felt.

She was glad her lady maids had not been taken with her. As much as she yearned for a companionable touch, or a gentle smile, she was glad they had gotten away in the hard scrabble fight on the beach. She knew they were less valuable than her, so would likely not have emerged unscathed from the ordeal, as she might. _Unscathed_. Is that what she was? Her lower lip was torn and bleeding, the evidence of a hard blow she'd been dealt as she struggled against the men who'd captured her. Her wrists and arms were bruised from the hands of Siegfried and the other men who had held her taut and powerless. And on top of that, all her fresh wounds seemed to re-ignite the older bruises that lingered on the soft bones of her face and the hidden flesh beneath her clothes. _Aethelred's work_.

It struck her then. Through the entire ordeal, she had not yet experienced anything worse than what Aethelered had done to her. In fact, Aethelred had done much, much worse to her than these men had. _So far_ , her fear spoke. And then she folded her body closer in on itself, so that she lay in the bow like a piece of crumpled cloth.

She could not say how much time had passed. An hour? More? She could not remember even what time it had been when the assault on the beach had occurred. She felt like it had been morning, but it could have been as late as midday. And now the sun was sinking lower in the Western sky and the whole day felt like a haze. Looking back on the day was like trying to retell a story she had slept through, so now the timeline was jumbled and confused. She knew this was the fear, the panic and heart-aching dread that had rent her in those moments when she did not know if she would live, or die, or suffer torment beyond her worst imaginings. Now it clouded her mind, trying to turn her away from re-living those events, from tracing them forward to the present moment. So she found herself confused and disoriented, constantly needing to remind herself of the danger she faced.

She assumed they had placed her in the bow so that she could not jump off easily into the water without being pulled under and killed. She wondered if that was something she could do, or should do. She wished she had the courage to flee or to fight, but she just felt frozen where she sat, barely able to count her own breaths, let alone contemplate resistance. What happened to her now was beyond her control. She could only hope to meet it with dignity, and strength.

She must have dozed, truly, despite her wretched state, for she woke with a lightning shock some time later, startled by a shout from the bowman. The sky was dim, the sun had slid past the horizon and a filigree of light traced the marsh grass and bog land that lay to the West. She forgot at first where she was, her heart and breath racing that like of a startled hare, surrounded by unknown men in a darkening world. But soon she remembered the day and did not have to relive the events to find herself again in a state of familiar, tempered fear.

The boat was pulling into the wharf below a formidable fortress. _Beamfleot_. The fortress on the Thames from which the Vikings had been raiding for months now. The waters were thick with boats. The shouts of men and the wet snapping of oar strokes filled the air as the Danes prepared the boats for landing, tethering and anchoring. The night was suddenly brightened with the flares of rush torches to light the slippery docks, and she felt her eyes burn at the sudden flames. Other crews were off-loading around them, men from the other ships that had accompanied Siegfried's on the attack, and had prowled back through the sluggish waters with them.

She had not looked over the ship's edge much, unwilling to draw any attention to herself in her fear-soaked state. But once she had looked towards the aft, craning her neck around the mass of oarsmen to see another ship trailing behind them, port side. It was hazy and her eyes felt heavy and dim. She could not even make out the shape of the carved prow. But she thought she saw a man staring at her intently from the ship's bow. His hair was fair over his bearded face and a thick-furred animal skin draped around his shoulders. She had looked away hurriedly, almost timidly, and had not looked out of the ship again.

Now the men massed around her, dislodging the fragile equilibrium she had claimed for herself, huddled in her small corner of Siegfried's ship. “Princess!!” The Viking lord's voice boomed from her right side, making her jump, and his footsteps followed a moment later. “Get up, Princess. It's time to move.” He grinned down at her, with what she might have called the least comforting smile she had ever received. His features were stark in the torch light and his eyes seem to glint with unfettered menace. She thought he might have reached out a hand to help her rise, but then she remembered that he had a knife for a sword hand and rose herself, gripping the boat's edge to keep herself from trembling visibly.

“Where are we going?” Her voice sounded thin and dry, weak with the screaming she had done when the fight occurred. But she was pleased to notice that it did not shake.

“To the fortress, of course. You'll be well guarded there.” It almost sounded like he was trying to comfort her. “Unless you cause trouble,” he added. “Then I'll let you loose in the hall with my men.” The grin was back in his voice. _So much for comfort_.

Aethelflaed had been in his presence for little more than a handful of hours, yet she felt she was starting to get a measure of the man Siegfried. He was a man who enjoyed causing fear – he thought it was funny. Terror was little more than a joke to him, a prank to be pulled on friends and enemies alike. It was not a comforting thought, especially as she now rested firmly under his power. But she thought of Aethelred and his humorless cruelty and felt a little less afraid of the Viking who now held her life in his hands. He may have found it funny to scare her, but that didn't mean he would act on his threats. That was something. Right?

Aethelflaed clambered out of the boat gracelessly, hemmed in by grunting, grim-faced men with axes to hand. As she found her feet on the salt-skimmed docks, a man appeared in front of her, as though he had stepped out from the space between the blinding rush lights and the inky dark water. She would have jumped, but her nerves were as limp and languid as a dead fish by now, and she could only manage to stop herself short, slowly.

“Erik!” Siegfried's voice boomed again from behind her. He was like a boulder rolling down a hill, constantly causing noise and havoc. She realized she was becoming too weary to feel afraid of anything anymore.

Siegfried clapped the man – Erik - on the shoulder and the two met in a half embrace, hands clasped around each other's elbow. The meeting seemed practiced, so that Erik met Siegfried on his left side, away from the scourge of his knife-hand.

Aethelflaed's mind was now as slow as the turning tide and realized two things much later than she should have. Erik was Siegfried's brother – the man who had fought beside him in the Battle for Loundon. This was the man who Uhtred had treated with to leave the city – _a man of his word –_ Uhtred had recalled to her, when she had asked him – no, _pleaded_ with him – to recount to her how the battle had ended. And this was the man who she had seen across the the waters, who had caught her eye like a hawk through the mist. He stared at her now again, even as his brother spoke to him.

“A fine day, a rich day!” He was saying, his voice jovial, and he clapped Erik on the shoulder repeatedly for emphasis. “The Gods are smiling upon us, brother. Eight of our warships recovered, and a pretty Saxon princess to boot! We must give sacrifice to Thor for this blessing.”

“Indeed, brother.” Erik replied, and his gaze left Aethelflaed's face for a moment to smile at his brother in return. “It is a most fortunate turn of events.” He was looking at Aethelflaed again, his blue-gray eyes shrouded by some unknowable thought. He was a handsome man, younger than his brother, perhaps twenty-eight or so. Wide blue-gray eyes and square jaw framed his straight, unbroken nose. His blond hair was pulled back and bound into a tail, and his short beard was combed and held with a silver bead. He wore full battle array, as did Siegfried – mail and leather armor, still bearing blood and gore of the battle. His swords and axe still hung from his belt, although his helmet had been removed, showing the old healed scars on his face and neck starkly in the rush light. He was a man who had fought often, and Aethelflaed had to look away to hide disgust at the evidence of the men he had killed still lingering on his gear.

“Lady.” He spoke to her now, and it startled her enough to bring her eyes back to his face. No one had addressed her besides Siegfried, and he had only bellowed “Princess” at her savagely. Erik now spoke to her like a lady worthy of respect and proper address. _A man of his word, a man of honor_ – Uhtred's words echoed in her head. “I hope this...ordeal, and – the travel... I hope it has not been too hard on you.” He spoke to her in good English, pausing as if to choose his words carefully.

Siegfried seemed impatient with his brother's courtesy and Aethelflaed was honestly at a loss for words. There was no formality she could return that could properly express how she felt at the moment and so she remained silent, and let Siegfried take back control of the dialogue.

“Erik – let us get her to the fortress. She is not our prize until she is locked up in the coffer, no? All it would take is for one man here to think he should have her for himself, and our prize is lost.” He looked around shiftily, as if daring one of the surrounding men to attack her.

“Yes,” Erik agreed, and he still started at Aethelflaed. His gaze was starting to make her uncomfortable, even though it held none of the menace of his brother. It was inscrutable, and that was what troubled her. She could not read him at all. “To the fortress. Have you thought of where she should be kept?”

The brothers conversed to each other as they walked up the hill, winding in and out of English, Danish, and another dialect that she imagined was Norse. She could follow some of it, having some Danish but no Norse besides the words which held a familiar shape from her own tongue. Her father had seen fit to teach her some of the Danish dialect, despite her mother's remonstrations that it was heathen language. Alfred wanted her to be well-equipped to meet the challenges of this strange half-English, half-Danish land, and she was grateful for his care in this moment. He had failed her in so much, but not in this.

The brothers had argued and debated on the long walk up the fortress about the tenets of her care and supervision. She had not followed it all, and had stopped trying to, letting her weary mind lapse into its own small rhythm, trying to find a place for it to rest outside the fear. She would find out what they decided soon enough.

It turned out to be Erik who won the argument, if that's what it was, and as they approached the entrance to the great fortress, it seemed to be him who had taken charge of her care. She was both relieved and disquieted by this turn of events. He seemed milder than Siegfried, and Uhtred seemed to have respect for him – but he was still an unknown element. At least she had started to understand a measure of Siegfried's ways. Now she had to start again from the beginning. She barely suppressed a sigh.

Erik pulled her aside before the entered the great gates. Many of the men who had returned with them from the ships had peeled off to their own encampments, nestled on the hillside among the lights of cook fires. But a morass of noise coming from inside the fortress revealed that there were many more inside.

Erik spoke softly to her, in English. The men who guarded their small convoy stood steadfastly around them, out of earshot. “There will be many men inside,” he said. “They will want to get close to you, to look you in the eye.” Was he trying to scare her? Or to warn her? She could not tell.

“They will want to frighten me.” She looked him in the eye as she said it. _Might as well practice now._

“Yes.” He replied and looked at her earnestly. She gave no reply, only nodded tensely and turned to continue inside the gates.

It had been a mess, inside the courtyard of the fortress. The shouting and cheering of the men surrounding her, roused by Siegfried's speech, had brought her back to the terror on the beach, and she had prayed to God to give her strength to not cover her ears and bow her head. The men were not allowed to come very close, kept at bay by the resolute body guard, and at one point, she thought she had felt Erik put a steadying hand on her shoulder, steering her away from a man who tried to reach for her. She had wanted to shrug his hand away stubbornly, but was too weary and slow-witted to make the move before he removed it himself.

She caught glimpses of the large, torch-filled hall of the fortress before Erik had given a command to his men, and the party turned down a narrower passage where a barred door marked the entry into another room. Erik himself unbarred and opened the door to reveal a small and dimly lit hall with several windows placed high on the walls. The smell was dank and musty, and the rushes were not fresh. A small cot lay in one corner, and it looked clean enough. There were few other furnishings in the sparse, sad little room.

“It's not much.” Erik said. His voice sounded regretful through his lightly accented English. “But it's the best we have. We were...not prepared for your arrival.” He tried to laugh a bit, as if she were an unexpected guest and not an unwilling hostage. He seemed to reconsider his joke and moved on quickly. “We will bring you clean water, and a wash basin. And fresh rushes for the floor. There is a bucket in the corner you can use, Lady.” She couldn't help but smile then, as he tried to soften the crudeness of his words with formality. It was comical. Maybe he was trying to tease her. She couldn't tell. “And...food,” he continued, as if he was compiling this list of necessities in his head for the first time. “You will be hungry, I am sure. Food and fresh ale.” She had never been less hungry in her life.

“What I want, Lord, is to rest.” She returned his formality, even though her voice held a weary bluntness.

“Yes, of course.” He blinked at her. “I shall leave you to your rest. And I will send you ale and water. You will be thirsty, at the least?” His attentiveness was bordering on obsequiousness and she was simply tired. So tired.

“You are not my manservant, you are my captor.” The words came unbidden to her mouth. She wished she could recall them but they had been spoken, and now Erik stood in a stunned silence. He recovered before she could excuse herself.

“You wish me to be crueler? To treat you like a slave? You are a princess, Lady, and will be treated with the respect deserving of your rank.” He was not angry, only confused and firm in his conviction. She had nothing to say. Wakefulness was seeping from her like the river retreating at low tide, and she worried if she did not find her rest soon, she would collapse on the floor in front of the man.

“No, Lord. You are right. I will take water and ale, gladly.” She did not demure when she said it.

“Indeed.” He was looking at her again with his strange, inscrutable expression and she imagined she looked back at him with a similar face. “You will be well guarded here, Lady, I assure you. My own men guard this hall night and day. If you have need of me, let them know and they will fetch me.” He turned to go, seemingly losing patience with her weary willfulness.

“Lord Erik,” she interjected, and he stopped to turn and look at her again. “My ladies.” Her voice was so thin, so dry. She wished she sounded like a king's daughter at that moment. “They have not been taken?”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. “Not that I've heard, Lady. No women were claimed but the Lady Aethelflaed.” He smiled ruefully.

“I am glad.” She released a sigh of relief and had to blink rapidly for a moment to hold back the tears that came unbidden to her eyes. “But I-” she faltered, unsure if she could express herself without emotion now. Thankfully, Erik seemed to understand.

“You would like an attendant, or two? There are women in the camp here, Saxon slaves and Danes. I will send you someone kind. Someone who speaks English.”

“That...would be much appreciated, Lord.” When she looked at him again, she could not control the sheen of tears that welled in her eyes and she saw his expression change when he looked at her.

“It shall be done, Lady.” She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes before she shamed herself any further. But when she opened them again, Erik was gone, the door closed behind him.

She staggered to the small cot and collapsed onto it face first. It had an old animal smell to it, but it was comfortable enough and a soft fur lay beneath her face. It was the softest, gentlest thing that had touched her, body or soul, in what felt like a lifetime, even if it was only a day. When she felt it, warm beneath her skin, she could not hold back anymore. The deluge of tears came, and she spent them into that softness, her body racked with silent sobs until she had nothing left to give.


	3. Chapter 3

“Will we send an envoy? To King Alfred's court?” Erik was speaking with his brother Siegfried in the main hall, over a meal of bread and cheese and salt pork. “To let them know we have the lady Aethelflaed.” His brother gazed idly out among the men in the hall and the courtyard, his face filled with a lazy contentment.

“They know we have her.” He replied, chewing his food loudly.

“But do they know we want to negotiate? To bargain for her release?” His brother looked at him, smiling his dark trickster grin.

“Let them come to us. We will not send a messenger to King Alfred, like a dog come for its bone. He can send his people to Beamfleot. If they are brave enough to face us, that is!” Siegfried liked to play games, to force his opponents into humiliations large and small. Erik cracked a thin smile. It was his job to help his brother see sense when his pride and temper took hold of his mind.

“But that could take weeks. Months, even. Even once the negotiations are complete, they will still have to raise the ransom.”

“Then it shall take months.” Siegfried countered carelessly. “Let them wait in the dark, afraid for their precious princess, wondering what fate she faces here.” Erik thought of the princess, thin and pale in the evening light, holding back tears in the dark and musty hall that was her home now. Would she be able to endure months of captivity? He feared for her, and wished he did not.

“I thought you wanted your king's crown by the fall.” Erik was gentle but firm in his resistance. His brother was used to his challenges, and would not be stoked to rage. He hoped. “If the negotiations drag on too long, we will not be able to gather the full fleet before winter. We will have to delay the campaign until the Spring, and drain our stores feeding the men we do have through the cold months.”

“The land is rich and our ships come back weekly with fresh plunder. Our stores will last.” Erik sighed. His brother was defiant. Would he sacrifice a sound and strong plan for the hope of humiliating Alfred further?

“The longer we wait, the longer they will have to prepare for attack.”

“Let them prepare, then!” Siegfried was frustrated now with Erik's challenge, and pounded his ale horn down on the table with a splash. “They cannot hope to meet us. Our fleet already outnumbers theirs three to one. Alfred puts fools in charge of his ships, and the men he can raise to fight are farmers and herdsmen!. They'll stand no chance, not in the fall or the spring.” Siegfried leaned back, the rage seeping from his deep voice. “We will not send an envoy to Alfred. We will wait for him to come to us.”

“As you say, brother.”

“Erik, brother, you worry too much!” Siegfried's tone was chiding now, even loving. “We will have our ransom soon enough. An army by spring, and a king's crown by summer.” Erik tried to imagine his brooding brother as the King of Wessex and wondered, as if he often did, if Siegfried's fate was truly to sit on that throne. He was a formidable man, it was true. He would rule with an iron fist. But Erik was not sure that Siegfried would be able to wield mercy and justice so easily. A good king needed to stir both fear and love.

“And you will be a King of the Sea,” Siegfried continued. “Prowling the coasts for me and taking your wealth as you see fit. We will make a good life in this land, brother. And our children and grandchildren will be fat and rich!" Siegfried's booming laugh echoed out as he clapped his brother on the shoulder emphatically. Erik could not hold back a genuine smile then.

 _A life with Wavetamer beneath his feet. And children, his children_. He thought of children, yearned for them more often than he let on. He had served his brother for so long that it seemed little more than a distant, aching dream. But perhaps it was not such a foolish hope, now.

He had been a father once – for a brief, shuddering moment, his life had opened up into something deeper, and richer with meaning and love. But the door had closed on that tender life as quickly as it had opened, and then there had been nothing but the pain. Even so, he thought it had suited him – fatherhood. It had suited him almost as much as the sea beneath his feet suited him, almost as much as _Wavetamer_ suited him. He would have more, if he had the chance. If he found the right wife, a good woman to build a life with. But only after he had helped his brother take the throne of Wessex.

He prayed for that fate sometimes, in the quiet space between him and his Gods. But he didn't think his children would ever know peace.

So it was decided that they would not send an envoy to Alfred. The story would spread soon enough anyway. The amount of men who came through the camp seemed like a torrent sometimes, and the warriors of Beamfleat were quick to boast that the Princess Aethelflaed was safe under lock and key, and soon they would all be rich with her ransom. Some of the men that surged through the fortress would be Alfred's spies, no doubt. _Or Uhtred's_ , Erik thought wryly. They would bring back the message that the Princess lived. He hoped they would also bring back the message that she was cared for, held under the protection of the Lord Erik. He thought that would mean something to Uhtred, at least. Erik had always kept his word and proved his honor to Uhtred, even if Uhtred had turned against the brothers himself.

The Lady Aethelflaed had not been as Erik had expected. A small and scared girl, barely grown – that is what he had imagined when he had heard reports of the Lady from spies and scouts. But she was not a child. She was a woman grown, tall and willowy, with long dark hair and a face like the half-shadowed moon. She bore herself with a grace that startled him in its ferocity. He had never known such powerful gentleness in a woman, and found himself struck by it. She had beauty too, there was no doubt of that, although her face bore more bruises than he would have liked to see. She had not weathered the capture easily, and he regretted it. But she held her head high when she spoke, and the light captured the golden green depths of her eyes, and the bruises did not change the depth of her eyes. Erik turned his mind away from her as much as he possibly could.

But he did see to the Lady's comfort. He had fresh rushes brought, as promised, and clean water with a basin to wash in. He had seen to have her provided with a small table and chairs to eat at, and a woman came each day to bring her meals and change out her water and night bucket. And he had chosen a girl to keep her company. She was a young Danish woman from the kitchens, a girl by the name of Audr. from what Erik had learned, she had grown up in the Danelaw and spoke both Danish and English dialects well. But most of all, she had a spark to her. She was witty and intelligent, even while being demure and deferent in the Lord's presence. He thought that Aethelflaed would get along with her, although he couldn't say why.

“You will keep the Princess company for as long as she wishes. If she has needs or requests, you will bring them to me. You will not gossip about her or spread tales of her to the men and women here. You will treat her with the respect deserving of her station and serve her in all things. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Lord.” The girl replied, her eyes glowing with mingled nervousness and excitement.

“You will do well for her, I am sure. She is a kind lady and will not mistreat you.”

“Yes, Lord.” Excitement appeared to win out on her tan, round face. Erik pulled a small golden ring from his belt pouch. It was no more than a trinket, part of Erik's share of the plunder from a recent raid of one of his oathmen's vessels. He had liked the pattern of it, it reminded him somehow of a windswept shore. It was too small a thing to give as a warrior's gift. But he thought the girl would like it.

“This is for your trouble, and for your discretion.” He said the words seriously, and her eyes grew wide when she saw the prize. “There will be silver pennies in it for you as well, if you keep your word to me.” She looked up then with a hint of fear on her face, as if asking “ _And if I don't?”_

“You will not fail me,” was all he said, as he closed the ring within her hand.

“Yes, Lord. Thank you, Lord!”

And so it was done.


	4. Chapter 4

After a few nights in the hot and musty hall, Aethelflaed's bleeding came. She remembered then how she had felt heavy and languid in the days before the attack, her breasts swelling and becoming sore. But she had forgotten in the chaos and horror of her capture and transport, and now the bright red blood on her thighs caught her off guard. _Of course_. She could not go a day in this prison without soiling herself somehow. She wished briefly that she could die, and go to the Lord, and be done with the ordeal. But she did not really wish to die, and so she revoked her prayer, and apologized to God for her foolishness.

She was grateful to the girl Audr, who had come on her second day in the hall and not left since, unless to fetch her food and water. A cot had been set up in the other corner of the hall, and the girl even passed the night in there, her breathing soft and comforting in the warm air, and Aethelflaed had felt less alone. The two had sized each other up warily when Audr had first arrived. Aethelflaed had thought her a spy perhaps, keeping an eye on her for the brothers to make sure she wasn't planning an escape, as if such a thing would be possible. No doubt Audr was wary of her as well – a foreign Saxon princess, a dour God worshipper, all piety and punishment. But Aethelflaed was free and generous with her smiles, and Audr's keen and kind face returned them easily, laughing openly at a small joke the Princess made. And from that moment on, they had been friends.

Audr had brought her fresh clothes on the third day, noticing perhaps that Aethelflaed still held the stench of the battle and that of her own fear, clinging to skin her like old smoke. She had sponged Aethelflaed down with a rag and water, and helped her put on the fresh shift and tunic. Aethelflaed had felt better for a time, relaxed enough to chat idly with Audr as the summer day slid by slowly.

But now her fresh shift was stained with blood, and her back and belly ached so fiercely that she thought she might be sick. She stirred in bed, barely containing a moan of despair. Audr was up and close beside her, blinking sleepiness out of her eyes, before Aethelflaed could even say a word.

“Lady, what is it? Oh no!” She saw the blood spreading out on Aethelflaed's bed clothes. “Oh dear. Is the pain great?” She was already busying herself with a cloth and the basin, ready to help clean Aethelflaed's thighs. Aethelflaed felt a tinge of embarrassed modesty, but the girl was so earnest and gentle in her desire to help, and Aethelflaed let her.

“I've known worse,” Aethelflaed said wryly. “But it is not pleasant, no.”

“You must have something to eat.” Audr offered. “I will get you some oats from the kitchen.”

“No.” Aethelflaed protested. “No, I cannot eat. I have no appetite.”

Audr looked at her with wide and worried eyes. “Lady, you must eat. You will grow faint and sick if you do not. Your bleeding will weaken you.” Aethelflaed knew the effects of her bleeding, she had experienced it enough times before, but she let the girl chastise her. She meant well.

“I cannot eat, Audr. Maybe later. I am so hot and heavy. My stomach is barely holding itself together. Now I've soiled my fresh clothes. I wish I could have a bath.”

Audr just looked at her and said nothing, beginning to rip up her old soiled shift to use for rags. Aethelflaed drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the morning, floating between boredom and pain. When she woke from one particularly sharp cramp, she noticed that Audr had gone. Perhaps she was trying to hunt down food for Aethelflaed as she had threatened. Aethelflaed tried to get up and walk around, to ease the stiffness in her back, but her head became light and faint when she rose and she had to collapse back onto her cot, breathing heavily and blinking back the darkness that had come over her vision. Perhaps the girl was right.

Some time later, footsteps sounded down the corridor to her hall and she stirred. Audr was returning, no doubt. She would try to eat, if she could. But no, there were two sets of footsteps, one heavy and swift, the other light and more tentative. Aethelflaed panicked slightly, trying to straighten her dishevelment, covering her stained clothes and bed sheets as best she could. She remained seated as the door opened. Lord Erik entered, with Audr following sheepishly behind him. Aethelflaed's heart dropped. _What had the girl done?_

Erik scanned Aethelflaed and the room in one swift, practiced glance. Did he notice her wretched state? Her pale, pain-filled face? She returned his look with the all the poise she could muster.

“Lady. Audr tells me that you are not eating.” He did not waste time with formalities. Aethelflaed tried to fix Audr with a glare, and the girl had the good sense to look a little guilty, but Aethelflaed could not be too angry. The girl was only doing her job.

“I have no appetite,” she replied. She kept her voice as steady as she could, not wanting to sound like a petulant, whining child. It was simply the truth.

“Audr also tells me that you would like to have a bath, to get outside and breathe some fresh air?” Aethelflaed's heart leapt at that and she beamed at Audr in gratitude. The girl returned her smile with a sheepish grin.

“Yes, Lord Erik. I would...appreciate that very much. I am feeling very sickly in the heat. And I have not bathed properly since....since I was captured.”

“I understand,” he replied. “I will arrange for you to bathe down at the river, with privacy. Audr can come. But in return, you must eat something. You cannot become sick in our care. I will not allow it.” Erik gestured to someone behind him and a woman shuffled in with a small tray. There were two red apples on it, and a small bowl of broth with bread. Aetheflaed suddenly felt famished as she stared at it. “Do we have agreement?” Her eyes snapped back to Erik from her momentary distraction.

“Yes, Lord. Thank you.” But he was already turning to leave and did not look back at her.

Erik had been dismayed when Audr had come to him. The Princess was not eating, she was sickly and weak and in pain, the girl had said. Was she ill? Would she die? He found himself struck with anxiety and realized a moment too late that it was not for the ransom, but for the girl herself that he worried. She did not deserve to die like a sick sheep, alone and held captive from her family and loved ones.

“Does she need a healer? An herb-wife?” He had tried to keep the fear out of his voice as he spoke to Audr. The girl was holding herself with uncharacteristic timidness.

“No, Lord. Well, maybe.” Her eyes were shifty. There was something she wasn't telling him.

“What is it, Audr? Tell me, and I'll give you a silver penny.” He didn't appreciate bribing his own retainer to do her job, but he had the sense that she was torn, trying to protect Aethelflaed's modesty, and he was grateful to her for that.

“She is...she is bleeding, Lord.” Audr did not look him in the eye when she said it, and he did not blame her.

“Ah. I see. I... thank you for telling me.” He felt her embarrassment and tried to brush it away. Most of all, he was relieved that the Princess was not dying. “Tell me – what does she need? To feel well and eat again?

“She says she would like a bath, Lord. A true bath, out in the fresh air. And her clothes are soiled again, Lord. I would like to find her a fresh shift.” Ladies' clothes were not something they had in excess in that warrior-filled camp, but he was sure they could rustle something up.

“I understand. Come with me.” And he had strode purposefully towards the Lady Aethelflaed's chamber, Audr shuffling nervously behind.

Aethelflaed relished the feeling – the silky coolness around her skin. The weightlessness as the water flowed beneath and around her. She thought she'd never known such pleasure, but then remembered how every small joy felt like pleasure in this harsh, gray place. Still, it was delicious. The weight and debris of the last few days seemed to sluice off her in the silty water, and she rubbed handfuls of riverine sand over her skin to wash away dirt, sweat, and dried blood. Audr bathed with her, any shyness that remained between them gone as they dove and laughed, naked in the cool waters.

She was only a little surprised to learn that Audr could swim, for the girl was clever and seemed to have known much more of life than her youth would suggest. Audr helped Aethelflaed to comb and wash her hair, and to Audr's surprise, Aethelflaed returned the favor. An older, stout kitchen woman, a kinswoman of Audr's sat on the shore with their clothes, ready to help Aethelflaed dress in her fresh tunic when she emerged. Further back from the shore, Erik and a few men stood guard, their backs turned to protect the women's modesty. Aethelflaed wondered how many wished to look and gaze upon their nakedness, and she was grateful in that moment for Erik and his protection.

Soon they emerged, cool and clean, the fresh clothes sliding over Aethelflaed's wet skin and absorbing the excess moisture. The men still turned their backs, but the watch woman gave a call when the younger women were dressed and the men relaxed and turned to face them again. Aethelflaed felt so light and free-spirited in that moment. She would have skipped if she was not so conscious to hold herself with the grace of a king's daughter. She would not be seen as a foolish child.

But as they walked the long winding path through the marsh back to the fortress, she could not stop herself from picking herbs with Audr in the warm setting sun. They harvested Sweet Gale, and Ground Ivy, Marsh Mint, and a long-stemmed grass that Aethelflaed did not know but Audr pointed out. She had crushed it in her hand and held it to Aethelflaed's nose, and the delicious smell reminded her of fresh-baked honey cakes in her father's banquet hall. Her eyes had grown wide and Audr had laughed, and they had collected it by the armful.

She would use the sweet swelling herbs to flavor the rushes and scent her wash water, and to lay between the layers of her bedclothes. She would ask Audr to braid some of the Sweet Gale and the honey-scented grass into her hair. Aethelflaed collected willow twigs as she walked as well, and chewed on the ends to the clean the sourness from her mouth. It was Audr's turn to be surprised; she had never used the fine bristled twigs to clean between her teeth and marveled at the experience. Aethelflaed had learned the trick from Gisula, Uhtred's wife. Gisula was the most beautiful woman Aethelflaed had ever known, and she trusted her implicitly in all matters of womanly arts.

A few of the men walked ahead of the women, and a few behind. Erik was in the tail, and Aethelflaed caught his eye at one point to see him smiling gently at her and Audr, his eyes flashing a mirror of their own joy and amusement. He was surprised to be witnessed in return and gave a formal nod before looking away.

Aethelflaed slept deeply that night, her skin fresh and cool, her bed sweet swelling, her breath clean. There was still pain from her bleeding, but she caught the flow with rags and knew she wouldn't soil her clothes again. She was content for the first time since she had been captured, and it was not hard to drift off into a dreamless sleep. But before it took her, she saw a fleeting vision: a pair of blue-gray eyes smiling at her in the evening light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have twenty two chapters written and edited already, so worry not! There won't be a long wait time. I'll post more as soon as I can. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Trouble was brewing in the brother's camp. The rank swelled by the day as Viking ships from around the entire Eastern sea, down to the shores of Frankia and beyond received news of their prize. Surely, Alfred must have heard the news by now, if men had already arrived from the Frisian shore, their eyes shining with the promise of gold and glory. But no envoy had come.

The swelling ranks always caused trouble. Fighting men collected grudges like arm rings, and as Viking crews clashed, oathmen to oathmen, some grudges were bound to flare up like rush lights in the night. Just the previous evening, a man had been killed in one of the surrounding camps, his jaw ripped off with a battle ax. Erik did not know whether it was a fight for vengeance, or a squabble over wealth or women. But the brutal blood spilling had set all the men of edge, and it was only a matter of time before another fight broke out.

The main hall at Beamfleot was only big enough to feast and sleep Erik and Siegfried's men, and some of Haesten's as well. The other men took their ale and rest in the courtyard, or outside the fortress on the marshy hill, or on their own ships, which buzzed like hives in the harbor when the sun went down. But as more warlords joined them, they jostled for the space, eyeing the hall with greedy eyes as though it should be their men who sat on benches in the torchlight and drank birch wine. Erik had no doubt that many of the arrivals considered their chances, wondering how quickly they could topple the brothers if they stole the princess themselves and lay claim to the ransom. They were surrounded by hungry wolves, and Erik could show no sign of weakness.

He had doubled the number of guards on the hall leading to the Princess' quarters. There were never less than eight men, day or night, and they knew they would pay with their lives if Aethelflaed was taken or harmed. But he worried about her still.

Haestan was his biggest concern. The shifty-eyed, blond haired Dane was not Erik's sworn oathman, nor was he sworn to Siegfried. He had sworn allegiance to their cause, an alliance bound by the Gods. But greediness drives men from the word of the Gods, Erik knew, and Haestan always had a hungry look on his face, especially whenever the Princess was mentioned. She was technically his prize too, as his ships and men had fought in the attack that claimed her, and he would rule East Anglia with the army her ransom would buy. Erik knew that he chafed that he had not been consulted about her confinement, disgruntled that it was Erik's men and not his own who guarded her. Erik cared little about Haestan's backhanded slyness towards him, but he never underestimated the danger the man posed.

Erik was glad that the Lady Aethelflaed was feeling better. Audr had reported that her pain had stopped and she was eating normally. The walk out of doors and the cool bath had done her a world of good, and the one time he had seen her since then, her face had held a healthy flush and she seemed to be in good spirits. Erik knew it was likely Audr who kept Aethelflaed's spirits well, and he gave the girl five silver pennies as reward for her kindness, to much astonishment on her part.

For his part, he tried to forget the day he had walked them to the river. Aethelflaed's drawn, pale face had melted and eased into contentment, and on the walk back she had laughed with Audr, collecting herbs and jesting all the way, and he had been happy to see her joy. He had stared so resolutely away from the bathing women it had hurt his eyes. There was a part of him that would have liked to see the Lady's nakedness, he could not deny himself that. Her face seemed to dwell now in the back of his mind, rising to the space behind his eyes unbidden. But his desire was meaningless, both to her and to himself. It could serve no one but his own need, and even then at his own expense. He would swallow his urge to touch the skin of her throat, to find a tender place on her body to kiss. He must.

The threat came when Erik least expected it. It had been a good day. Three ships had returned with plunder from the Southern coast of Wessex, silver and weapons and women had been seized, and the men were sated with celebration. The women were not Princesses and would not be held in safe confinement. They would be claimed by the men who wanted them, and used. Erik regretted their fate – he had never taken a woman unwilling to his own bed – but there was nothing he could do for them now. It was the way of things.

Even Haestan seemed relaxed and happy, drinking ale freely and toasting to the wealth that would be theirs once Wessex had fallen. Erik felt himself slip into the easy mirth of it, and soon a skald was singing. His clear voice echoed through the now quiet hall, a sad song of a warrior's sacrifice and the glory he brought to his people. It was the kind of song that could grab Erik and hold him in its grasp, his heart sore with the beauty of it. But soon, it was over, and the hall lapsed back into easy laughter. And it was then Erik noticed that Haestan was gone.

He rose unsteadily. The ale had gone to his head more than he had thought, and he still wasn't sure whether there was cause for alarm. But he strode as purposefully as he could, down to the courtyard, where a large, thick-handled woodwright's ax had been left on a trestle next to a half-shaped oar. He looked at it, paused, and then grabbed it for good measure.

He was right to be concerned. As he approached the end of the corridor where Aethelflaed's chamber lay, he saw a bustle of men, more than should have been there. There appeared to be a stand-off, his own men were cornered, while a larger group of swordsmen stood, their weapons raised in silent threat. They bore Haestan's sigil on their oiled leather armor. Erik felt his temper flare into a deep fury.

“What is going on here?” He could make his voice boom like his brother's if he tried, and Haestan's men turned, surprised at his stealthy approach. The first one who approached him took the butt of the ax handle in the belly as hard as Erik could wield it and fell groaning to the floor.

“The next man who challenges me will get the sharp end through his head.” He spoke the words slowly and without emotion. “You will move out of my way this instant, or you will die.” The men seemed to weigh their options and their allegiances. The leader of Haestan's guard nodded slightly, and the men retreated.

Erik strode through the neck of the corridor, and as he approached the door he heard Haesten's weasel voice from within. “Perhaps I should remind you that you're a hostage, and a woman.” He felt sick with fury as he wrenched open the door with a shout. He took in the scene in a space of a breath. Haestan stood in the opposite corner of the room, pushing Aethelflaed against a wall as she stared at him with steely terror. Another man was closer to Erik, subduing Audr, who whimpered and struggled in his grasp. Haestan seemed to be so fixed on his wickedness that he had not noticed the altercation in the hall, and now spluttered with surprise as Erik entered.

The other man was closer and Erik took him first with one heavy punch to the head. He fell with a wet crunch, his body curling to protect his broken face. Audr stood up with a small shriek of vengeance and kicked the man twice. Then she backed away, in fear and awe of Erik's roiling fury. When Erik looked back to Haestan, he was surprised to see the man on the ground and found himself disoriented for a moment. But then he saw Aethelflaed with her night bucket in hand. It seemed she had used Erik's distraction to splash the contents onto Haestan and then beat him on the head with its thick wooden bottom. He could not help but grin at Haestan's humiliation.

But now Haestan was rising again and Erik crossed the distance between them with two long strides. Aethelflaed melted away, perhaps to find Audr. Erik's blood lust was raised and there was only one target for it now.

“Get up.” He spat the words at Haestan, as the dripping man struggled to stand. “Get up!”

“She is a hostage, Lord Erik! She is my hostage as well as yours.” Erik took him in the head with the back of the ax. It was not a double-headed battle ax but a single-bladed tool, and the flat heel of the ax head did not cut Haestan but rang off his skull like a bell. The man screamed in rage and pain and fell to the ground again.

“Get up.” Erik's voice was nothing but cruel fury now.

“You cannot keep her all to yourself*” Haestan bleated as he staggered upright. There was blood dripping into his eyes, his temple raw and purpled like a bruised plum. “She is _our_ hostage.” He challenged, testing his luck, and his fate.

Erik raised the ax again and had the satisfaction of seeing Haestan cringe and cower beneath him. He did not strike. It was enough to shame the man, and Haestan knew it. He looked at Erik now with fear and deep hatred in his eyes. Haestan had never been a friend, but now the man was surely Erik's enemy.

“If you or your men ever threaten my guards again...if you ever enter this hall without my permission again...” He breathed heavily between each phrase, spitting out his threat like a wild beast. “Then I will cut each one of your men's throats and make you watch.” Haestan growled at him, but his face was pale. “The Lady Aethelflaed is precious. You will leave and not come back to this hall if you enjoy your life.” Haestan stared at him for one long tense moment and then pushed past him to leave the hall. Erik heard him bark an order to his waiting men, and then they were gone.

Erik knew the brutal savagery he had displayed in front of Aethelflaed and Audr, and he feared to turn and face them now, expecting terror in their eyes. He controlled his breathing and slid the ax through one of his belt loops, and then he turned. The women were not struck by fear at the sight of him, he was grateful to see. They held each other closely, arms clasped around each other to form a feeble protection and comfort. But they both looked at him with clear, deep eyes, their chins held up.

“This should not have happened.” He addressed it to both of them, but he spoke to the Lady Aethelflaed. “My apologies.” The women did not speak, and he wondered if he had misread their faces. “It will not happen again,” he offered. But he had promised it would not happen before, and it had. So now his word meant nothing. “My apologies,” he said it again and turned to leave, hiding his shame.

It was Aethelflaed who spoke. “Thank you, Lord Erik.” He nodded, still turned half away from her. “And if it does happen again, I know what to do now. I will use my night bucket.” There was a smile in her voice and Erik marveled again at her poise. Who was this woman? What had forged her strength? He craved to know.

“That is wise, Lady.” He faced her fully now, faced both of them, and noticed Audr's wary, worried look. _What was the girl thinking?_ “You are precious, Lady. Sleep well, and safely.” He turned to leave then, looking back only once. The women held each other still, their eyes shut and their heads close. His heart ached as he walked from the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

Aethelflaed slept fitfully. After Erik had left, she and Audr had pushed the cots next to each other, so they could sleep side by side. She had let Audr hold her as she drifted in and out. The girl slept better than she did, and Aethelflaed wondered if occurrences such as these were common enough in Audr's life to not disturb her so much. She wondered again at the strange, kind Danish girl and the mystery of her.

They had spoken little to each other after the attack, choosing to speak instead with comforting touches. They had only been companions for a week, maybe more, but there was already a deep unspoken trust between them. Aethelflaed worried for the girl, worried that she was an imposition, and that Audr secretly wished to go about her life in the kitchens and not be bound to take care of a spoiled princess. But Audr seemed happy to stay by her side, and Aethelflaed loved her for it.

Aethelflaed woke in the night. The moon was heavy in the sky, close to full, and shown through the narrow windows of the hall to wake her sleeping eyes. She thought she was alone in the dark, but then heard Audr stir beside her.

“The Lord Erik is a good man.” Her voice was small, but steady.

“A terrifying man,” Aethelflaed countered quickly.

“Are you afraid of him?” Audr asked. _Are you afraid of him?_ Aethelflaed looked inside herself for fear, the fear she had of Siegfried, the fear she had even of Aethelred, and she found none.

“No. Not really.” She gave a laugh and Audr laughed gently back. “I am glad he was here. Even if he is an enemy and a Norse man.” She spoke before she thought, and felt Audr still beside her.

“I am a Dane,” she replied. “Am I an enemy?” There was a challenge in her voice, and a vulnerability.

“No, of course not.” Aethelflaed tried to soothe the hurt with her words, and reached out to hold the girl. “No, you are a true friend.” Audr accepted her kindness but was silent, and Aethelflaed wondered again about the girl and her life. How had she come to this place? Was she a slave? Did she wish the Danes rulers of all of England? Or did she just want a life of peace and plenty, like everyone else? Aethelflaed had not dared to ask these questions, afraid that Audr would take offense or not want to answer.

“How long have you served Lord Erik?” She felt that was a harmless enough question, and Audr had started the conversation about the man.

“Not long.” She replied, quietly. “I lived and worked here before the brothers took the fortress.” Aethelflaed was startled at that. No wonder the girl had depth beyond her years. She had lived through a battle and reached the other side. “It belonged to Guthrum's men before that – King Aethelstan.” She corrected herself quickly.

“I know,” Aethelflaed replied with a smile. “Was it dreadful? Did the men...did they harm you, when they took the fortress?” Audr shrugged and looked away, a vacant look in her eyes. Aethelflaed could guess what that meant.

“It wasn't so bad.” She looked back at Aethelflaed defiantly. “But it was nicer when there weren't so many fighting men around. I've learned to stay out of trouble.” Aethelflaed wanted to ask her so many other things, but she stalled her tongue.

“And I think the Lord Erik is kinder than the lord we had before.” She smiled. “We don't see Lord Siegfried much. He doesn't concern himself much with managing the household.”

“That's good. The Lord Siegfried does scare me.” They lapsed into silence again, two friends lain beside each other in the moonlight.

“I think he cares for you, Lady.” Audr's voice was barely a whisper.

“Siegfried?!” Aethelflaed was startled, and Audr collapsed into laughter at her surprise. Aethelflaed laughed sheepishly too.

“Nooo! The Lord Erik!”

“It's his job to protect me.” The reply came quickly, so that Aethelflaed would not think of his blue-gray eyes as she spoke. “To protect me so he can ransom me and build an army against my father.” She had not spoken so openly with Audr about politics before, but there was little timidity between them anymore.

“Yes,” Audr replied. “That is always the way with lords and fighting men.” Her Danish accent was clipped and slightly impatient, as though what she said was obvious. “But that does not mean he doesn't like you.” The conversation collapsed then into nonsense, Aethelflaed buffering Audr's suggestion with jests of her own, and the two joking and laughing at the expense of foolish lords and their quests for glory.

And Aethelflaed did not think of blue-gray eyes, or a gentle smile, or a fearsome man who called her 'precious.' Not at all.

Audr came to see Erik the following day, her face taut and worried. He wondered if she was still suffering after the attack of the previous night, and he tried to give her a comforting word and another apology. She brushed it off like it was a bothersome fly.

“No. It's not that.” She sounded impatient.

“What is it? If you want a bribe just say so.” He had little patience after the ordeal with Haesten.

“I do not want a bribe.” Her words were short and filled with controlled temper. “I want the Lady Aethelflaed to be safe and well.” Erik regretted his harsh tone and eased his voice.

“Then you and I share a common goal. Tell me what is bothering you.” Audr bit her lip, apparently struggling to decide if she was doing the right thing.

“I think the Lady Aethelflaed has been hurt.”

“Hurt? By Haesten?”

“No. Not by Haesten. By someone else.” She paused again, then decided with a breath to surge her story out in full. “She has bruises. Bad bruises.”

“I believe the Lady was hurt during her capture. I regret that she was, but she will recover.” He tried to ease his own fear with his words, and failed. Audr looked at him sharply with fire in her eyes.

“She has bruises where she should not have bruises. Not if she wasn't...harmed. By someone.” Erik began to understand what Audr was saying and not saying, and felt a pit a dread in his stomach.

“I understand, Audr. Thank you. Thank you for telling me.” He was stammering, but managed to reach into his coin purse as his mind reeled.

“I do not want your silver!” Audr spat the words at him. “I want to see the Lady Aethelflaed safe.”

“Indeed.” Chided, he removed his hand from his purse and nodded. “Thank you.”

Erik went to the chamber as soon as he could. Audr had scurried off the kitchen after their meeting, so he knew she would not likely be there. He didn't know if he was glad for that or not. He still had no idea how he would broach the topic without shaming Aethelflaed greatly. He did not want to cause her shame, but he had to know that she was safe.

His men stepped aside as he approached. He wondered if they noted that he walked in alone, and if they thought he planned to use her. He had threatened them with their lives if they let another man pass within those rooms alone, but they let him go without a challenge. It was a sobering thought.

Aethelflaed was startled to see him enter alone, and perhaps it was fair for her to hold some fear of him after his performance the previous night.

“Lady,” he said formally, nodded tightly. “I hope that you are well and have recovered from... last night.” He could find no other words and hoped that those would suit.

“I am well, Lord. Thank you.” He stood silently then, realizing how unprepared he was and she stared back at him, apparently starting to believe that he was completely daft. “Is there...anything you...want from me, Lord?” The confusion was evident in her voice.

“No – Yes.” He closed his eyes with barely contained embarrassed, then took a breath and sat at a stool by the small table within the room. Aethelflaed sat on her bed. “I need to know, Lady. Have....have you been harmed at all while you've been here?” He would have liked to keep his eyes closed as he said the words, but he mustered the courage to face her. Her confusion did not clear.

“I...” She stopped, and stammered mildly. “Haesten did not harm me. He did not --”

“Not Haesten.” Erik's voice was soft but tempered with restrained emotion. “Someone else? When you were taken? Or after?” He hoped his earnestness allayed the confusion and doubt she likely felt at that moment.

“I...I was struck..and bruised a bit.” Her tone implied that she wished to add “you know that” to the end of her statement, but she restrained herself. “But the bruises have healed, Lord. I am well.” Erik sighed, half relieved and half frustrated that he would have to press her still further.

“Lady. Please excuse me. I have no wish to cause you...embarrassment. But Audr worries that you have been harmed by someone here. Harmed...badly harmed.” His words felt stupid, weak things caught in the air, but had no choice but to continue. “Audr says you have...bruises. Other bruises.” It was done. He could only wait for her reaction now.

Aethelflaed's face flashed first with anger, then shame, and then a mild wry humor as she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Audr,” she murmured to herself, as if cursing the girl, but she did not seem too angry.

“She cares for you. She worries that someone is hurting you. Do not be angry at her for coming to me. She meant well.” He spoke brashly and knew it, but he didn't want to see the girl suffer.

“I know.” The anger returned, although it was clear the Princess had much practice concealing her emotions. “But it was not her place.”

“Perhaps not.” Erik replied softly. “But if someone has harmed you, I must make them pay. You know that, surely.” He was surprised by the ferocity in his own voice, and wondered if it startled her. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from Aethelflaed about concealing his emotions.

The princess took a steadying breath and looked him squarely in the face. Her expression was strong but vulnerable, as if pleading with him to believe her and then leave her in peace.

“No one has harmed me here, I assure you. Nothing has happened beside the attack last night and you witnessed the extent of that.”

“But the bruises --”

“Are from before.” She said the words fiercely, cutting him off with a sharp tongue and fire in her face. “They're from before here. I am well.”

Erik could have quailed under that look. He wondered if she wished her god would smite him in that moment, but nothing happened. Nothing except the rage rising in his belly, burning like a hot blade through his body. A flaming rage, and all it for the man who had dared to hurt her.


	7. Chapter 7

Audr did not come back that night, and Aethelflaed could guess why. She feared Aethelflaed's anger, worried that the Aethelflaed would feel herself betrayed and lash out at the girl. She wasn't angry, although she certainly would have preferred to avoid the ordeal with Erik. He did not need to know her litany of small shames and pains. It was enough that he held her under his control now. It was enough that her mind turned to him unbidden and that his face drifted through her dreams.

She had been trying to turn her mind away from him, like nudging a child away from the heat of a fire. If she wasn't careful, she would find her thoughts wandering to recall a moment of tenderness in his eyes, dwelling on the stubborn handsomeness of his face, or wondering at the feel of his hands on her skin. When she could not keep the thoughts back, she would turn to prayer, calling on God and asking Him to turn her mind from wickedness. She felt ashamed as she did, wondering if God judged her. If He could see her soul and all the thoughts within it, then He would know that she had already walked the path of sin, and He would judge her. But then she would remember Father Beocca's words, reminding her that God was forgiving and she would feel less fearful of His wrath.

She passed the night fitfully, trapped in this maze of desire and fear of sin. When she woke, she found that Audr had returned and sat on a stool, stabbing listlessly at a bowl of thick oats.

“Audr!” She was genuinely pleased to see the girl, and rose sleepily to greet her. But Audr's face was contorted as if holding back tears.

“I am sorry, Lady, truly! I did not mean to shame you! I was only worried for you.” She looked down at her food, refusing to meet Aethelflaed's eyes.

“It's alright Audr. You did not shame me. I know you meant well. I am happy that you've come back.”

“Truly?” Audr sniffled as she looked up.

“Yes, truly. Come, please! I slept terribly without you last night.” And Audr came to her tearfully and the two women embraced.

“The Lord Erik?” She asked. “He did not come? He did not...?” She didn't – or couldn't - finish the thought.

“He did.” Aethelflaed responded, and Audr gave a soft moan. “But all is well. I was not shamed. And you should know that I have not been hurt. I worry more for you within these walls than for myself. I am guarded night and day, but who protects you from greedy men in the night?” Audr was not a great beauty, but she had a sharp, bright face, and Aethelflaed knew it took little to turn a man's mind towards lust.

“I stay out of trouble.” The girl said resolutely.

“So I've heard.” And she wondered if staying out trouble meant sleeping with a knife clutched to her breast.

The day passed slowly, and another after that. Audr flitted in and out, more cheerful now, but her comings and goings left Aethelflaed feeling more conscious of her confinement. She may have been protected in her chamber, but she envied Audr's freedom of movement, her simple life and routine in the kitchens. She knew she could command Audr to stay if she wished, but then she would simply be condemning the girl to her share in her boredom, and that would help no one. She wished she could feel the sun on her face in the cool fresh air, and bathe once more in the river, and pick fresh herbs. Her rushes had turned sour again and she was starting to feel sick with the smell of herself. Perhaps she wished too hard, for her prayers were soon answered – in a way.

The sun had already set and Aethelflaed was preparing herself for another hot and restless night in the stuffy chamber when a knock sounded on the heavy door. Audr didn't knock but merely slipped in like an otter through a stream. There was only one person it could be. Aethelflaed straightened her tunic and smoothed down her hair, chiding herself for the small self-conscious moves. And Erik entered, his face framed by the oak posts of the door and his eyes oddly nervous.

“Lady.” He gave a solemn nod, as he always did, and Aethelflaed felt an aching in her body at the tenderness in his face. Her prayers had continued, but in praying for the thoughts to leave her, it seemed she had instead called them even closer. She had not known how much she craved his face until that moment, and the craving made her nervous.

She could tell Erik was nervous, as well. He looked around, seeking Audr in the corner, but she had left before the sun had set to collect fresh rushes and had not yet returned.

“Audr's not here,” she said, and Erik laughed, as if amused that he had read her thoughts.

“I see. I hope that you are well, lady?”

“As well as ever.” She felt easier in his presence than she had before, and she let her voice relax as she spoke to him now. He noticed her ease and gave a gentle, grateful smile that set her stomach ablaze again.

“I was wondering...if you would like to go on a walk? Accompanied by me and my men, of course.” Her eyes had widened at the suggestion, her body betraying her need for fresh air, and perhaps he had interpreted it as trepidation.

“I would be very grateful for the opportunity, Lord Erik. I have been desperate to get out of this room for days now.”

“I am sorry for the heat. I wish... I wish I could accompany you more often, so...so you could breathe the fresh air.”

“I understand.” She said. She could rage at her captivity every other moment of the day, but right now she felt only gratitude.

“I thought maybe Audr could accompany us as well,” he continued. “But as she is not here, I could come back later?”

“No!” Aethelflaed was startled at the intensity of her own voice. It wasn't so much that she was desperate to be alone with the man. She would have preferred the safe comfort of Audr's presence. But she could not give up the opportunity to breathe fresh air now and risk losing it altogether. “No, please, I would like to go now, if it suits you.” She prayed that her voice did sound as pleading as she imagined it.

“Of course.” Erik seemed startled at her reaction as well, but he smiled, and she thought he might also have been pleased. The knot tied more firmly in her stomach, and she was not sure if it was excitement, or fear, or both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but there are some long ones coming down the wire :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Aethelflaed finally spend their evening beneath the moon...but it does not go as either of them thought it would.

They sat beneath the moonlight, awkwardly, Lady Aethelflaed and Erik Thurgilson. They made a strange pair, alone on the hillside, but it was not entirely uncomfortable. There had been trepidation, a tense unspoken distance between them as they wound through the corridors and courtyard to exit the fortress. But when they had first entered the marshy meadow, Aethelflaed had nearly gasped with the pleasure of being out beneath the sky, and marveled openly at the sight of the round moon rising over the Eastern shore. Erik had seemed pleased at her pleasure and had walked beside her through the waking night, his hands clasped formally behind his back. Out in the marsh grass, with the Earth beneath her feet, she could not help the small childish impulse that rose up in her. It compelled her to bend down to smell the fresh sweetness of the Earth and to comment aloud on the beauty of the night and laugh when the mud and silt squeezed up beneath her naked toes. At her first glimpse of a willow tree, she had excitedly snapped off a handle of small twigs and started chewing one to clean the staleness from her mouth. Erik had watched her with quiet curiosity, until she had handed one to him without comment, and he started to chew as well.

“We chew Birch twigs like this in Norway, where I come from,” he had shared. “But I've never used the Willow before.”

“I cannot bear it when my mouth turns sour and stale. I am lucky that a great Willow tree grows in the courtyard of the palace at Winchester. I can have all the willow twigs I like.”

“And don't the herb-wives say Willow is good for aches in the head?” He asked. His eyes were alight with a quiet intelligence that she had not noticed before.

“I've heard that too. Doubly good then, for teeth and head aches.”

“I suppose so. I always find a gargle of fine sea water to be effective when I cannot bear the taste of my own mouth.”

“Hopefully not from the Thames,” she said, her face mockingly serious.

Erik laughed and she smiled with him. “No, not from the Thames. The trick of the willow twig is most appreciated, Lady.”

There had been men with them at first, the usual guard, but they had dissolved into the trees as she and Erik approached the hill where they now sat alone. She was sure they were not far. She wondered if they were out of earshot, and wondered why she wondered. Did she want them close? Did she think they would protect her if she needed it, alone on the hillside with Erik? They were his men, and he was her only protection here.

But Aethelflaed was not afraid of Erik and she knew it, even as she questioned and doubted her own instincts. She knew he was committed to protecting her, he had made that clear. But he was also her captor, and it was only because of his brother and their plans that she needed protection at all. Still, he had a kind, smart face, and gentle manners, and he did not frighten her, even if part of her wished that he did.

Perhaps it was her own waking desire that frightened her more, the realization that she might not mind if Erik did want to kiss her here, beneath the moonlight. Her thoughts were sinful, she knew, and she sent out a silent, fevered plea to the Lord to keep her heart pure and free from corruption, and she hoped that Erik did not notice her discomfort.

He spoke easily, gently, telling small jokes as if trying to make her laugh, and there was a tenderness to his voice that took Aethelflaed off guard even as it put her at ease. There was something in the quality of the night, and the easiness of her conversation with him that made her feel an aching sense of longing and loss. It felt like such a time long ago - before marriage had caged her, before war had consumed her life – that time when she had still been a maid with her hair down and her heart hopeful for the future. She had been a king's daughter then, too, and she had thought her life to be so carefully controlled. But compared to the last months, the freedom she had known then, in her father's halls, was nearly unimaginable. Still, even in that freedom she had never been allowed to sit alone, with a handsome man on a hill, to be just a woman in charge of her own heart.

“I was born on the night of the whole moon,” Erik was saying, as he stared up at the round white face of the sky. “My father wanted to name me Máni, after the moon god. But Máni is chased each night across the sky by Hati the wolf. My mother did not want me to be chased by wolves.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “I saw the moon, in the clear sky, and I wanted to share it.”

“I am glad you thought of me,” Aethelflaed answered, honestly. The desperate pleasure of the night's air was like food to her starving soul.

“Well it was either share it with you, or with my brother.” Aethelflaed laughed then, at the thought of grim, grit-eyed Siegfried enjoying the beauty of the moonlight on the water. “The choice was difficult, I admit.” He joked.

And when he smiled at her then, something shifted. Was it inside her or in the world around them? That open smile, with his face wide and bright, his eyes full of mirth, pierced her heart like a spear. To have a man smile at her, to smile at her like _that,_ was a new experience entirely. It was not the condescending smiles of her parents, not the scraping, subordinate smiles of her servants, not the poison-arrow smile of her husband. It was a true smile, one that seemed to seek to make his joy her joy, to make room for her around his warmth. It made something rush from her heart like a moth to a flame. It was in the gentle flame of that smile that Aethelflaed was lost.

Erik had once had a fine silver bowl, hammered and stamped with intricate designs. It had been given to him in part trade for a fine stallion he rode, and he had cherished it for its strange and delicate beauty. He had thought it might have been Roman, or even Greek, or perhaps from some other people whose stories and gods had been lost to time. The patterns inscribed on its tarnished surface showed dancing women, their faces long and serious and strangely beautiful, their bodies half covered in draping cloths, and their hair flowing free like waving sea foam.

As Erik looked at the Lady Aethelflaed now, he thought of that bowl – its old and precious beauty, the dancing women with their faces proud and inscrutable, like they'd been traced from a vision of Freya herself. Her face glowed like silver in the moonlight, untarnished now by bruises, which had faded and healed. Her nose was long and straight above a soft, wide mouth, her green-gold eyes heavy lidded above high cheekbones. Her hair hung loose, the color of roasted barley. He wondered if she was shamed to have her hair loose, like an unmarried maid. _She was married_ , he remembered with a start. _And she would be going back to her husband soon_.

Perhaps it was because of that – that feeling that the moment in his hands was so ephemeral, like a blossom fading before the bees have found its scent. Perhaps he hoped to touch that moment just a little, to acknowledge its fleeting fragility and not let it pass unwitnessed. So he reached out his hand to Aethelflaed's face and touched her gently on the chin. She looked at him, her eyes wide and open, and he saw no fear within them.

“I have never seen a face like this before. Now I see it, even when I close my eyes.” It was the truth, and he gave it freely, without shame. But she did not respond, and he wondered with a pang if he had crossed a line. He pulled away gently. “Your husband is a fortunate man.” He hoped the sourness he felt with those words did not show on his face or in his voice.

Aethelflaed looked away, and her expression drawn. “My husband does not see me.”

“Then he is blind,” Erik said earnestly. “Or stupid.” Some men could see a night sky full of moon and stars and complain only of the heat and the bugs. Erik thought her husband might have been one of those men.

“He is not blind.” There was an unspoken world in her voice, a tempered bitterness, and he felt the truth dawning on him slowly, and then sharply, like a red hot poker approaching the base of his spine.

“He is unkind to you? He is the one who harms you? He is the one who --” He had almost said “rapes you” but he could not bring himself to say the words to her tender, blushing face. The rage was like a poison snake is his belly now. To have such a woman as this – with all her quiet beauty and strength – to possess her body and soul in the eyes of the law and the gods themselves, and then to treat her worse than a tavern whore. The thought was unfathomable to him. He could kill the man Aethelred for this. He _would_ kill the man for this.

He was dragged from his bloody fantasy by Aethelflaed's voice, and controlled the emotion rearing up inside him with hot passion. “It is duty and not love that binds me to my husband.” There was such resigned strength in her words. His heart could have broken then for her and her lonely fate.

“You do not love him?” It was clear, it should have been clear, that a woman like Aethelflaed would hold no love for a man who beat and raped her. But for some reason, he needed to hear it, he needed to know a small piece of her heart.

“He is not the man I would choose to be with.” She looked him full in the face when she said it, and it was like looking into the sun. Yet he could not look away. A thread seemed to draw between them in that moment, linking their eyes across the warm night air. _The Spinners,_ Erik thought. He could feel them sometimes, the pluck and pull of their fated strands on his life, guiding him, leading him. _Dooming him_.

They gazed at each other then, and his eyes flashed unbidden to Aethelflaed's lips. When he looked back at her, her mouth was open slightly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy lidded but bright in the night. He kissed her then, softly and quickly, like the flash of a bird on a branch before it is gone again. He drew away, not knowing if he had pushed her too far.

The thread still stretched between them, and he got the sense that Aethelflaed could have broken it if she wanted to. She could have looked away, laughing sheepishly and snapping the tension that now buzzed in the air. And perhaps nothing that happened after that moment would have happened. Perhaps it would have all gone differently.

But Aethelflaed did not break the thread, and it pulled them inexorably back together. And the kiss began in earnest.

The kiss began slowly, tenderly. He seemed to ask for permission without using any words, his eyes probing her face, her lips. She met him, mouth open, eyes closed, for a moment, but then he pulled away, as if giving her the chance to stop, allowing her to end it without shame. But the parting made her crave him more, and when they came together again, his hands cradled her face and he did not stop.

She had let him touch her face, comment on her beauty. She had not stopped him, she had not pulled away from his gentle hand. She had even looked at him, with an open face and an open heart, and divulged a small piece of her own pain. She had taken a step, and then another down this road. And now Erik was kissing her with a fierce tenderness she had never known.

She knew he had desired her, even as he protected her from the lust of other men, and now she felt it – his hands in her hair, his breath on her neck as he kissed the soft skin of her shoulder, the firm grasp on her arms as he held her, as if bracing himself against an urge to press down on top of her.

She had not known the strength of her own desire, not until now, not truly. But this fierce pleasure was so unlike anything she had known before, she could not resist it. She let him kiss her wildly, feeling searing heat and cool chills race through her body like horses free from the paddock. And she kissed him back openly, giving him freedom of her mouth, easing her body into his so that she felt the strength of his chest against hers. He must have felt the invitation in her body, for soon his hands traveled off her arms, down, skimming her hips, cradling her waist, smoothing up her spine and circling tentatively around to hold the roundness of her chest.

They both groaned at the touch, and then laughed, nearly bumping foreheads in the awkwardness. They pulled away from each other then, taking stock of one another across their shared breath. Erik still held her body close with his strong hands. His breath came fast and heavy, and she noticed that she panted too, as if her breath raced to catch up with her galloping heartbeat. She did not remember pulling at his tunic, grasping for his skin, but she must have. The collar was pulled down revealing the muscles of his neck, and a long thick scar like a rope across one shoulder. He had so many scars – across his face, his hands. She wondered how he had survived each cut, what searing pain they had wrought him. She reached out a hand to touch this one, to trace it with her fingers, but something stopped her. _The scars of a warrior_.

He saw her outstretched hand and pulled her close again, hoping to restart their kiss, but she stiffened in his arms. _The scars of a warlord_.

“What is it?” There was concern in his voice, as if he worried that he'd hurt her. She was still collecting herself, her passion subsiding reluctantly, her doubts and trepidations rising in her stomach like water boiling over a flame. “Do you wish to stop?”

 _The scars of a invader_. She pulled away, stammering, not looking at him as she spoke. “I..I – can-cannot do this. I am sorry. I cannot do this, lord.” For a moment, he seemed confused, unable to understand what had shifted. She wondered if he was considering overpowering her anyway and trembled a bit, internally, at the thought. But the moment passed and he eased back with a sigh, released his hands from her, and smoothed back his blonde hair. She knew he would be filled with unmet desire, his body taut like a bowstring, but it did not matter. She could not do this.

“ _I_ am sorry, lady” he said with a tender smile and gentle eyes. “I did not mean to press you. I will not force myself on you.” He reassured her. His voice was not angry, to her surprise. There was even some humor in it, mixed with the notes of disappointment.

“It is not that,” she said, still refusing to meet his eye. “I m-mean,” she stammered again, blushing, “I am glad you will not force yourself upon me. I.. I didn't think you would. But I.. I cannot do this.” He waited while she collected herself, steadying her breathing and finding the ground firm beneath her. Finally, she took a breath and spoke true and clear. “I cannot trust you, lord.” The words dropped from her mouth flatly, like cold stones.

She looked up and saw the corners of his eyes crease, his mouth crooked with humor. “Call me Erik, please. I have enough fools calling me “lord” all hours of my day. I don't need to hear it from you.” He was trying to ease the tension, to cut through the intensity in her voice.

“Is that supposed to make me trust you, Erik?” She looked at him full in the face then, a smile on her lips but no humor in her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment, his face falling grim. Then he looked away, towards the moonlit water, then to his hands, which lay in his lap. He was fiddling with his fingers, she noticed, twisting them around in his palms as though he were nervous. The gesture startled her slightly. He had always seemed to be a man who was never nervous. He seemed lost for words.

Aethelflaed swallowed. She was not lost for words. They came to her like a surge, or a storm, droplets of fierce rain falling to her tongue. “I cannot trust you. You are an enemy of my father and my lands.” She stopped and took a breath, but the words kept coming. “You conspire with your brother to seize the throne of Wessex, slaughtering and slaving and raping your way through my people as you go. You would desecrate the temples of my faith and rob them of their holy treasures.” Erik said nothing and did not meet her eye. “Now you plan to sell me back to my own husband and father like little more than cattle to fund your army.” Her temper was strong, and rising, but her voice was under control. She would never forget Aethelred's harsh reprimand, calling her raised voice 'shrill,' beating and humiliating her at her own table. She spoke now with the tempered authority and controlled rage of her father the King.

“I am your hostage. Under your protection, and under your control. But you are kind, and gentle, you say I am precious, you let me bathe in the river and bring me under the open sky and kiss with with tenderness. Why? Is this a game to you? You could take me by force if you wanted, but instead you hope to seduce me. To trick me into your bed. Another conquest to brag about with your brother in the mead hall, no doubt.”

Her final words rang out in the air, echoing in the distance between Erik and herself. Erik held the silence for several long moments, and she did not rush to fill it. She had said her piece. She wondered for a moment if he would get angry, raise his voice, or strike her. But she was surprised to find she was not afraid. Living with Aethelred's poison had made her more resilient to men's anger. She would not be broken, no matter what happened.

Finally, Erik spoke. “Lady Aethelflaed, I -,” he stopped, struggling to find his voice. There was a hoarse, almost desperate tone to his words. A note of grief that stirred her to look at him. “You are right, lady. You have no reason to trust me.” He looked her full in the face when he said it, but there was no humor lingering there. Only the harsh shadow lines of his weathered warrior's skin in the moonlight.

“So it is true.” She phrased it as a statement, not a question. “All this -” she gestured to the moonlit water, the grassy hill, her own tunic, still rumpled slightly from his questing touch.“All this is part of your plan.”

His face sharpened then, an intensity emerging from the depths. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse but not harsh. “No, lady. This is certainly not part of any plan.”

The silence stretched again. It felt not unlike the shy awkwardness that had arisen when they first sat on the hill, shoulder to shoulder, before the kiss, before her harsh words. She had been giddy with the freedom of being out beneath the open sky, and had opened herself more to his charms. There had been intimacy in that awkward tenderness, the shy unspoken questioning of their bodies so unexpectedly close. There was a different kind of intimacy now, a taut tension which would not resolve itself in a foolish kiss beneath the moon. How it would resolve, she did not know.

Erik spoke again. “But you are right that you have no reason to trust me. You are right that we are _viking,_ we are raiders and warlords who would take the land from your people. You are right that we would use you to raise an army against your father. You _are_ a hostage, a bargaining piece. It is not fair to you, I know this. But it is the way of war. Your people would do the same if they had the chance.” There was a pleading note in his voice, she was startled to hear. As if it was important to him that she understood, that she realized her captivity did not come from his cruelty.

But it mattered little to her. If she had been one of the Norsemen she'd seen guarding her chamber or walking the yard, she might have spit in response to his words. Instead she simply echoed them back to him. “The way of war.” Her voice was bitter and hollow.

She had an unexpected urge to seize his hand. Not to re-ignite their kiss, not to re-open their intimacy, but to press some of the truth of her words into his skin. Maybe they would get inside his blood that way. Maybe they would change him. But she did not reach for his hand.

“I think you are an honorable man, Erik Thurgilson.” They looked each other in the eyes now. There was nothing to hide. “And honorable men are hard to come by. But I cannot trust you.”

“I understand, lady.” He smiled at her then tightly, not the wide open easeful smile of before, but a true smile still. His eyes creased and there was tenderness in his face, as if he was simply glad to be seen by her, despite her rage. She felt her heart open in a moment and the moths fluttered again from her chest to the warm flame of his face. It was his smile that had opened her in the first place. It was his smile that threatened to destroy her. She looked away and shuttered herself.

“I would like to go back to my chamber now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the entire 30 chapters of this story completed, but I am new to posting fanfiction. What makes more sense - should I wait in between posting chapters? Or post it all at once? Leave a comment if you have a preference!


	9. Chapter 9

Erik did not see the Lady Aethelflaed the next day, or the day after that. In truth, he could not bear to face her again, not yet. His desire had been raised for hours after their tryst on the hill, and he had spent the night in turns fitful with need and cold with the shame of her harsh judgment. Then the anger would rise in him, petulant and insolent. He had been nothing but kind to her, sought to protect her and care for her, and still he was not worthy of her trust and regard. But then he would push the anger aside, for her regard did not matter, and he did not deserve it either way.

How it had it come to this? How had he come to see her face, even when he closed his eyes? How had she come to haunt his thoughts unbidden? He had expected to find a half-grown child, a spoiled Saxon girl, shivering and afraid. He would have kept her safe from harm and gave no second thought to her until the ransom came. But he had instead found a grown woman, brave and clever, unafraid to look him in the eye, and refusing to release her stately composure. It had been a surprise to say the least. She was a woman who demanded respect, and he had wanted to give it to her freely.

Was is respect he felt now? As he thought of her face shining in the moonlight? Her mouth, so warm and wet and open to his, their tongues still fresh with the sweet sharp taste of Willow sap. Her hands, which had found his face and his throat, raising searing heat where they traced his weathered skin. Her body, freely pressed against him, rising him in need. Her sounds of pleasure as he pressed his mouth to her soft skin, as he smoothed his hands over the roundness of her curves...He had to loose his own pleasure with his hand when the thoughts arose, to rid himself of the aching need they wrought in him.

And then he would remember her words, her shaming words which had cut to the core of him. He had not taken her to the moonlit hill to seduce her or to have his way with her. He had only wanted to please her, and to find himself closer to the comfort of her warmth. But it had been a mistake, he understood that now. Foolish and selfish. She could never be free to choose him while she was under his power. She would be gone soon, and she would take this ache in his heart and his belly with her. And then he would not have to think about her again. Or so he told himself.

Erik avoided seeing her for several more days, trusting his men and Audr to keep her safe and cared for, although Haestan stayed always under his watchful eye. The situation with Haesten had worsened since the altercation in Aethelflaed's chamber. The stinking weasel-shit had complained to Siegfried, and Siegfried had turned his sharp temper on Erik, as though it were all his fault.

“You cannot truly be angry with me for stopping Haesten from raping a valuable hostage? The Princess could be worth one thousand pounds of gold for all we know. She's not here so men can take their pleasure of her!” Erik burned as he said it, knowing he spoke in condemnation of his own actions and desires.

Siegfried stopped short at Erik's words. “You think she is worth one thousand pounds of gold? Truly?” He seemed startled by the possibility.

Erik sighed. “No, I don't think they will pay that much. But they will certainly pay more if she hasn't been violated by a horde of North men.”

Siegfried's eyes glinted with dangerous mischief. “Then perhaps you should work on keeping your own hands off her, brother, if you're so concerned with her purity.” He prodded Erik in the chest with the sheathed tip of his knife-hand as he said it, a harmless but clear threat.

Erik hoped he did not pale visibly at his brother's word. “And who is it that's told you I've taken my pleasure with the Princess? Name them!” He let some of the frustration of the last days bubble up into his voice. His brother could bear it.

“The men talk.” Siegfried replied warily. “You should be careful, brother.”

“The men lie.” Erik said defiantly. “Haesten can speak whatever horse shit he wants. It's his own jealousy and greed he reveals, not any misdeed of mine.” Siegfried eyed him with a searching look. Their relationship had always been rooted in trust. There had been little reason to hide anything from each other before now. He was abusing that trust now, baldly lying to his brother like this. He saw that Siegfried believed him, and felt guilty. _Nothing has truly happened with Aethelflaed_ , he told himself. _It is not a lie_.

“As you say, Erik. The men grow restless as we wait for war. Their plots and suspicions will only rise through the winter.”

“And who was it who said we could wait a winter before making war?” Erik tried to sound light, almost teasing, even though he felt nothing but anxious tension. “If I remember correctly, it was _I_ who argued for us to initiate negotiations sooner.”

Siegfried laughed. “Must I always say it, brother? We both know you are the clever one! But it's in the hands of fate now.” He looked at Erik more seriously. “And if it happens that we cannot make war before the spring, we will have to keep the men's appetites under control.”

“Yes. I agree. That's why I intervened -” Siegfried had been turning, as if to go, but he swung back to face Erik now, a savage expression on his face.

“That includes _you_ , brother. Keep your damn cock to yourself and _control_ yourself from beating our allies with the blunt end of ax over a bloody woman. If the men turn against you, I may not be able to protect you.” He did turn to go now, his final chastisement echoing in the air between. He spoke over his shoulder as he departed. “And make your peace with Haesten. We need him.”

To say there was bad blood between Haestan and Erik now would have been an understatement. The blood that lay between them and fueled their feud was a stinking, fetid shit pit of rot. Haestan nursed a sour grudge against Erik for his intervention and beating, and Erik shot silent curses of loathing at Haestan whenever he was in his sight. Not only had Haestan tried to subvert his authority and harm Aethelflaed, he had tried to turn Erik's own brother against him. He would have challenged the man to the square if he could. Instead the rage between them just simmered and popped like a burnt carcass on the dying coals of a fire. The sourness festered on the surface of any formal meeting the two men participated in, making it difficult to get anything done. Erik tried to hold himself above Haesten's baiting, not wanting to attract the wrath of his brother again. But the stinking shit of a man made it very hard indeed.

“We must gather the local lords who have already pledged to us.” Siegfried was speaking from the head of the table that had been set in his personal chambers. Erik, Haestan, and four other warlords who commanded more than 50 men each had been invited to gather for the meeting

“The lords who have turned against Guthrum?” One of the leaders asked. He was a man called Ilaf the Red, and he was closely allied with Haesten.

“Yes,” Siegfried replied. “They will want to see the princess, and take assurance in the strength of our cause.”

“Will they be offered a share of the ransom?” Another man spoke. He was called Brandr and commanded ten war ships from across the sea in Daneland. He was a fierce warrior, but he had a good sense of humor, and Erik liked him.

“No. They will be offered land in Wessex, delivered by the army that her ransom will buy. And ceremonial gifts from us, of course. That will be enough for them. Not every man gets a share of the ransom, as much as they wish it, no doubt.”

“It would probably help if you hadn't implied that the wealth of her ransom would be shared freely among the men.” Erik countered dryly.

Siegfried crashed a hand down on the table. Erik was unfazed.

“There will be plunder enough for every man when we are through! The army we raise with that money will open Wessex like an oyster for all men who would claim land and wealth.”

“But we shall each take a share of the ransom?” Håkon spoke now, a broad, red-bearded Norse man whom Erik had known since he was a boy. “We have ships to repair and men to outfit. We will need a share to shore ourselves for battle before spring.”

“Yes.” Siegfried nodded. “We all fought to secure her capture, the ransom belongs to all of us.”

“And tell me,” Haesten spoke now. “How will we divide the ransom?” He looked at Erik as he spoke, and did not attempt to conceal the loathing in his eyes. “We have not spoken of it formally. The Lord Erik holds her under his protection, does that mean he gets the biggest share?”

“No, of course not.” Siegfried looked with anger at Erik, as though it was he who had asked the question. “My brother and I will take half together, the remaining half will be split evenly between the remaining men here.” Erik scanned the room at this, gauging the reactions. Some of the men looked pleased, the others mildly sour. Haesten could barely contain his disgust at the offer.

“Unless,” he started, and Erik felt a sense of foreboding at his words, “the Lord Erik decides that the princess is too _precious_ and so decides to preserve her in wax. Then none of us shall have a ransom.” Erik stood rapidly, kicking his stool away with his feet, and Haesten mirrored him, so that the two started across the table at each other. The other men remained still and tense.

“I'll give you one chance to cease spitting your poison, Haesten. One chance.” Erik's eyes flicked to the ugly bruise that still bloomed on Haesten's forehead and noticed with pleasure that the man's face twitched slightly.

“She belongs to all of us, Lord Siegfried!” Haesten bellowed. Although he addressed his words to Siegfried, his eyes never left Erik's face. “She should be kept where we all can see her. Perhaps hanging in a cage in the main hall?” The unmasked malevolence in his words made Erik boil.

“Enough!” Siegfried had seized his belt knife with his left hand and it sailed down now to skewer the table and quiver threateningly between Erik and Haesten. “The Princess stays under my brother's protection _at my command_ , Haesten. You will have your share of the ransom. Need I remind you of the pledge you swore to this cause? Need I remind you that you stand to gain the crown of East Anglia? You do not need to bark like a hungry dog or I will find cause to kick you.” Haesten's open protest eased a bit, but his eyes still flamed with rage. Siegfried paused for a moment, then swung to face Erik.

“You. You will give half your share of the ransom to Haesten as weregeld for your assault. Haesten, you will receive half of Erik's portion in addition to your existing portion.” Erik was shocked and dry mouthed, Haesten round eyed with barely concealed glee.

“Brother, you --” Erik spoke to protest, but Siegfried cut him off with a dark look. Erik had always been skilled with sums, and he could manage the simple figures quickly enough to realize that Haesten's share now outstripped his own.

“And Haesten, you will go. Take your ships or men on horses, or both. Go over water or land - I do not care. Send messengers to the local lords that we shall gather in meeting in a week's time. Then travel to the Wessex border and scout for Alfred's envoys. If they are not on their way already, we will force them out.” Haesten seemed disgruntled at the command, even though he had undoubtedly won the shakedown. He was likely wondering if he could trust Erik and Siegfried alone in control of the Princess, without leaving his own men to protect his claim. But Siegfried's iron will came down like a hammer to an anvil. “I will get rid of this damned woman before you two kill each other over her.” He glowered at Erik and Haesten in equal measure. “And when Haesten returns, you two will put aside your conflict or I will horse whip you both.” It was an empty threat. Neither Haesten nor Erik would ever allow Siegfried to horse whip him, like a slave without honor. But it got Siegfried's point across well enough.

“Does anyone challenge me?” No one did.


	10. Chapter 10

“You did _what?_ ” Audr's eyes were as round as coins when Aethelflaed shared her shy story. “You, and the Lord Erik -”

“Shhhhhh..” Aethelflaed hushed the girls squeals of surprise with a hand and a smile. “It is done, and it won't happen again.”

“Did you...did you two.....hump?” The word made Audr giggle with embarrassment. Aethelflaed guessed she had no other word to use, and in truth Aethelflaed had few words in her own horde to describe the carnal acts of the body.

“No, no. I couldn't.” Aethelflaed's voice revealed both pride and regret. “I wouldn't,” she amended.

“He didn't force you?” Audr was losing her girlish silliness as the conversation progressed and Aethelflaed was glad for it. She needed advice, not blushing and giggling.

“No. No, you were right. He is a good man.”

“But you did not want to...to love him?” It was a strange choice of word, but Aethelflaed preferred it to “hump.”

“No, I did --” she cut herself off, blushing. “I desired him. I don't know if I wanted....that” she said lamely. “But I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to be kissed by him.” She fell silent.

“And?” Audr was hanging on her every word, as if Aethelflaed was telling the juiciest story Audr had ever heard.

“He is an enemy, Audr!” she crooned joylessly. “I would be betraying my God and my people, not to mention my husband! For all I know, he took me on that hill to have his way with me. Maybe he has been trying to seduce me this whole time. I cannot bear to be used like that.” There was bitterness in her voice now, though whether it was for Erik or herself, she could not say.

“Do you believe that? That he is using you?” Audr had a talent for asking questions that pierced Aethelflaed to her core.

She sighed. “No, I suppose not.” She thought of Erik's tender aching face, the gentleness with which he had started their kiss, as if he too were afraid to be lost in it. “I think he desires me as I desire him, and wishes he did not.” She felt the sadness of her words then, like the sadness of her small and lonely life.

“So you do desire him? Still? I thought you said it would not happen again.” She wished Audr wasn't so good at cutting into the truth. She wished she could hide herself, just a little.

“It will not. It will not happen again.” Audr looked at her with a straight face, then raised her eyebrows slightly and crooked her mouth. “It will not! I pray to God that it will not happen again.” Aethelflaed protested. And Audr could not restrain her incredulous laughter then.

Erik's mood eased once Haesten and his men left the camp on their mission. He knew the rumors still swirled, the ones that said he was bedding the Princess and needed to be watched to make sure he wouldn't steal her for himself. Siegfried kept a wary eye on him, but with Haesten gone he was more easy to joke and jest as they normally did. Erik still avoided Aethelflaed's chamber like it was the plague itself. If he was honest with himself, he was still afraid to face her and risk seeing the contempt and distrust in her eyes again. But he told himself it was necessary to protect her and himself.

At least she was safe for now. He worried for her even with Haesten gone. She was keen and more educated in the ways of war and politics than he had expected. She knew that she rested now as a pawn in a game between her father and Northmen. But Erik did not think she realized that she was also a pawn in the North men's games with each other. He imagined it was easy to think of them as a unified group, a seamless front of foreigners with the solitary goal of conquest. In truth, the Viking war lords were at each other's throats as often as they bit at the Saxons, if not more. He just hoped she would remain safe and protected from their infighting. And so he stayed away from her, and told himself it was for her own good.

But then Audr came shuffling to greet him in the courtyard one morning. The weather was turning cooler as the season swung towards autumn, and Haesten's men had been gone for four days. It had been nearly a week since the night on the hill and Erik still thought of it every night, tormenting himself with the memory of her soft, warm body against his.

“The Lady Aethelflaed would like to have another bath, Lord.” Audr reported. “She wonders if you could arrange for us to go to the river again.” Erik knew he could not avoid her forever, and that she would likely have some need that only he could attend to. He wished the request did not call to his mind the thought of her naked body, with cool water sliding over her skin.

“I understand,” he said with a nod. “The Lady Aethelflaed, is she well?” He tried to keep his voice steady and formal. He had no idea how much Aethelflaed shared with Audr, whether the girl knew of the night of the hill. He looked at her steady face, her mouth held tightly in a thin line as if trying to control a smile, and he could take a guess. He was not sure how he felt. Aethelflaed must not have felt too much shame, if she had shared the encounter with her maid, but now he felt shame by proxy, feeling as though this kitchen girl knew some piece of his heart.

“She is bored, Lord. Her spirits are low. She complains about most things.” Audr looked grim, and Erik thought Aethelflaed's mood must be low indeed. She didn't strike him as a woman who would allow herself to wallow and whine. The next words came so softly, Erik thought he had misheard them. Maybe Audr said them so quietly to minimize her sense of guilt for sharing them. “She wishes you would come to see her, Lord.”

Erik looked at her sharply, searching her face for a lie or a jest. “You speak truly?”

“Truly.”

Erik fumbled for words. “I -” but Audr had already turned and vanished like a shadow.


	11. Chapter 11

Erik knew he had no choice but to chaperone the women to their bath. He could not trust any of the men to accompany Aethelflaed without him. They would rake her with their eyes and boast of it later. They would make her feel unsafe. So Erik arranged it for the following day, planning to lead a smaller guard this time, just three men. He greeted the princess formally with a nod when he arrived, and saw a wide-eyed, searching look on her face. He had to turn away from it or be sucked into her like a reed in a whirlpool. He did not speak to her on the way to the river and kept his eyes averted the entire time she bathed. He tried not to think about her nakedness, for fear of what it would stir in him.

The bath was completed without incident, and Erik led Aethelflaed and Audr back to the fortress warily. He did not doubt that the men in the camps surrounding the fortress watched them and joked to each other as they did. He did not doubt that Aethelflaed was under threat, perhaps now more than ever. Perhaps the women sensed his tension, or perhaps they carried their own unknown anxieties as they walked back to the keep. They did not laugh as easily nor move as loosely through the sun-strewn meadow as they had on the afternoon of their first bath. Autumn was starting to touch the grasses, turning them brown and dry, and the late summer flowers which had bloomed riotously before now withered and sagged on the stalk. There was a barren beauty in it, but a sadness also, of witnessing the ripeness of life fading, and fearing for the winter to come.

But Aethelflaed still flushed with a beauty of a summer's day, and Erik could not keep his eyes from searching her face as she spoke with Audr and collected what herbs and flowers she could find in the fading grass. And before he knew it, they were passing back through the courtyard, towards the corridor that led to Aethelflaed's hall. Audr was pressing her hand to the princess in parting and peeling away to the kitchens with a shifty look back at Erik's face. As they approached the end of the corridor, Erik felt his heartbeat race. He knew it would have been rude and careless to ignore her now, and he would have been ashamed of himself for it. She deserved the respect of his address. And she did not frighten him, for all her beauty and gentle power.

He followed her a short distance into the chamber, the door still ajar. He watched her for a moment, standing straight as a sapling in the opposite corner of the room, her arms crossed and her eyes oddly defiant.

“If you need anything else, lady,” he said, and gave a small bow before he could stop himself. _A bow_? He wished he could kick himself. Her words from the night of her capture echoed in his mind. _You are not my manservant. You are my captor_. He felt his shame rise. When had she claimed this power over him? Or, perhaps more honestly, when had he given it to her?

He turned to go, hoping to hide his shame, but her voice stopped him. “Lord Erik, you are avoiding me.” There was no anger in it, just an honest openness. He could not help but marvel at her, the way she could speak truth with a steady voice and warmth in her eyes, as though she did not wish to cause him shame. He had never witnessed anything quite like it.

He furrowed his brow and gave a short nod, his hands clenched behind his back. He took a moment to close the door behind him, hoping to lend their conversation more privacy. All the men already thought he was humping her anyway. Let them speak their untruths.

“I thought that is what you wanted, lady.” It was true, and it was also true that his own shame had kept him from seeking her out again. He hoped she could not see that.

She laughed gently, and he felt himself taken off guard. He was not in control here and did not understand what prompted her shifting moods. From their kissing and touching, the openness of her body that had inflamed him for days afterwards, to the closed harshness of her true-spoken words which had ended any hope he had of tasting her again...and now this. She seemed to be inviting him back inside her closed shutters, and he did not understand why.

“I said I could not trust you, Erik. I did not say that I do not enjoy your company, or that I never wish to see you again.”

“Indeed.” He nodded again, hoping to hide his confusion in the shadows of his face. “I think I understand, lady,” although he did not. “I still have hope of earning your trust. As much as possible.” He added awkwardly. His stance was still formal, his words measured, and as he looked at her face, composed yet crooked with gentle amusement, he could not help but think that she was laughing at him. Her amusement withdrew and her face clouded as she leveled her next words.

“You will have a chance of earning my trust when you no longer seek your power with murder and theft and use me to do it.” It was a shockingly bold statement, so much so that Erik was lost for words for a moment. But everything about her was bold and surprising. He wondered if she would ever dare to say something like that to his brother, and knew she wouldn't. Was it weakness she saw in him?

“With respect, lady, is not all power taken with murder and theft?” He could match her boldness with his own, and he had built and twisted arguments in his mind all week, countering the ghost of her judgment that endured in his head. They came to him readily now. “Did your own people not claim this land with fire and bloodshed in centuries past? Are there not tyrants and murderers among your own line of venerable ancestors?”

She was not taken aback, as he had expected and perhaps hoped. She merely nodded, her face composed and considering.

“Yes.” She conceded. “It's true. But my ancestors emerged from their Heathen ways and found the true God. Now we remember those who ruled with cruelty and savagery _as_ tyrants. The bards do not sing them as heroes glory-bound. We seek to do better.”

He laughed dryly. He had seen the savagery of war with the Saxons and knew there were no saints leading armies. “You jest, Lady. I have heard the Saxon songs of blood and glory. I have heard them sung in Saxon halls in your own native tongue!” _We are not so different from you_. That is what he wished to say, but he didn't. He noticed now that she was confused, as if trying to recall the songs he spoke of, and he realized that perhaps those songs were not sung in Alfred's halls. Perhaps Alfred only allowed for the performance of Christian chants and dull dirges. He felt sorry for the lady, for her loss. The old songs were good.

He continued, hoping to lift away her confusion. “You have your thanes, your warriors and fighting men. Do they not seek their glory and reputation at the tip of their swords? It is not so different from our men Valhalla-bound.”

“But our men fight in the name of God,” she countered. “They fight to protect the peace, so that the Christian faith may thrive and the land may prosper.”

He did laugh this time, openly, and noticed a flush rise on her face. He regretted his laugh the next moment. He did not wish to shame her. She was clever in the debate and spoke well for her people. Even if she knew little of war.

“Lady,” he said with more tenderness. “If I went to King Alfred's square in Wintancester today and threw a stone, I would hit three men who fight not for God, or for peace, but to fill their pockets and wet their cocks.” He heard the words arise, unthinkingly, and immediately regretted them. The Lady Aethelflaed blushed and looked down, but he noticed her mouth still remained crooked with a smile, as though she found his mistake funny. He scrambled to cover the awkwardness of the moment, and continued. “Your father's man – Uhtred – he is a Heathen, is he not? A Pagan warrior. He does not fight for God's army.”

Her eyes had sharpened when he mentioned Uhtred, and the look made him wonder. Was it hatred or love that she held for the man?

“But he fights to protect the peace. He fights so that the land may prosper and Saxons and Danes may live together without bloodshed.” So it was love, then. He didn't know if he was glad that she could love a heathen half-Dane, or disappointed that she did.

“Uhtred also fights for vengeance and wealth, never doubt it.” He countered, perhaps with more emotion than was necessary. “I have fought the man. I, too, know a piece of his heart.”

Her face was drawn, her eyes narrowed now. “But men follow him because he is a man of honor. He is good to his word. They do not follow him for a share of slaves and plunder. Any leader can bribe his men with silver, and they will be loyal for just as long as it takes for a richer warlord to come along and buy their swords. It is honor that breeds loyalty, not silver.”

“And yet you yourself have called me an honorable man – how do you know they follow me for my silver and not my honor?”

“Perhaps they do,” she allowed, “follow you for your honor, that is. But then why does your brother need to sell me to raise his men? An army cannot hold on gold alone.”

“Some would say that gold is the only thing that has ever held an army.” The argument had quickened in pace, and the tension had risen. Aethelflaed was controlled as ever, and Erik did not raise his voice, but the sharpness and swiftness of their words seemed to hold more sting. He did not know why, but he felt like his honor was at stake.

“Do you say that?” Her tone had relaxed a bit, the corners of her mouth curving up slightly. She had noticed the tension too, and sought to ease it. Her question caught him off guard.

“You are a right in a sense, lady. Men who fight for silver will never be truly loyal. But true loyalty is not always needed. Fighting men will always find a fight, peace or no. Why not use them for our own gain?”

“You fight so your brother can be king of Wessex, but a good king rules to protect his people, not to slaughter them.” There was judgment in her eyes, even as she tried to ease her words, and he felt the weight of her angry Christian god behind them.

“Lady.” He could not be surprised. She had been raised her the court of the King Alfred. She would have been told the stories of God and glory. She would have been trained to believe in the Saxon's just cause. “I fought against your husband's men in the Battle for London.” He saw her flinch at the mention of Aethelred, and regretted it, but he continued. “Do you know what your men of Mercia did to the people of London when they took the city?” She blinked, her eyelids shuttering rapidly, her gaze downturned.

“I can imagine.” she said simply.

“They were mostly Danes in the city, it is true. But they were just people – merchants and farmers and washerwomen. People like Audr. I could still hear the screams and smell the smoke a half mile down river as we fled.” The silence was steely now. He knew he had caught her off guard, and perhaps she was angry at him for it.

“Your men would have done the same,” she replied, finally. “If the roles were reversed.”

“It is true.” He admitted. It was the way of things.

She might have read his mind. “And you would say that is the way of the war.”

“I would.” There was something larger at stake here now, larger then their petty debate, larger even than the aching, confined affection that bloomed and stalled between them. “There are times when I wish it wasn't so,” Erik continued. “But this is the world the Gods have seen fit to give us.”

“But maybe _God_ can change it.” There was a mild pleading look in her eyes. He thought then that her faith was strong, and also shaky. She wished for the goodness of a God whom she also feared.

“Maybe,” he admitted. He could not say what the Gods could or couldn't do. It seemed her Nailed God had a power of his own and Erik did not make a habit of doubting the divine. “Your God tells you of good and evil, no? That there are good men and evil men in the world? It is a simple scheme, appealing too, I admit. But I have never known real men to be so simple.” He sighed and looked up into her face, wondering if her faith was a brittle thing that would lead her to anger. But she looked at him with her measured curiosity, and he continued. “The Old Gods of my people come with many names and faces. They can be wicked and clever, gentle and generous. They can all speak to us, if we listen. They can lead us down our paths or pull us astray into their own schemes. They are more complicated than the Christian God, I give you that. But I think they are also closer to the truth of things – the truth of men.” His thoughts stretched in the silence. He had never expressed them so, never even given them so much conscious thought. The Gods of his people were a fact to be lived with, not a belief to hold faith in, and so he had never questioned them. But now, as he stood defending his Gods to a clever Christian princess, he found them close.

He expected a retort, an accusation of falsehood or blasphemy. But Aethelflaed only continued to look at him, her expression drawn and measured, her heavy-lidded eyes twinkling slightly in the low light.

“You are the clever one, Erik, that much is clear.” She allowed herself a smile. “So why is it you who follows your brother?”

The question came seemingly out of nowhere and left him startled and struck for words. Then the thought of his brother startled him doubly, for he realized he'd been in this hall, debating with Aethelflaed for longer than he knew, and that his absence had surely been noted. He glanced down the corridor into the courtyard where women and servants bustled busily, bringing ale and stew to the hall to feed the men.

“Lady, I am sorry, but I have to go. My brother will be looking for me.” Her face lost its composure for a moment, and he saw frustration flash from the depths. Was she angry that he was leaving? Did she think he was running from her question? Maybe he was. “My apologies, sincerely. I have stayed here too long.”

She seemed to understand, and her face softened as she approached him. They had spent the whole conversation with an aching distance between them, and as she came closer, he felt his heart begin to race. “Will you come back?” She asked and he had to stop himself from swallowing audibly.

“I will, Lady. If you wish it.” He knew the confusion must be clear on his face. He could not tell if he angered her or pleased her, and it left him feeling out of his depth. Then she reached to grab his hand, and his heart beat faster still. She pressed it as she spoke, as if hoping to tattoo her words onto his skin.

“I do. I enjoy your company, Erik. It passes the time.” He felt the tenderness of her smile, the good nature in the jest of her words, and returned it.

“Then I will come back, Lady.” He could not help himself. He raised her hand quickly to his lips and kissed it gently. Then he turned from the stable without a second look. He worried that if he looked back at her face, he would not be able to leave.

Erik had always been a man of action, and he strode purposefully through the courtyard now, walking with confidence and swagger as he always did. He was a lord of this fortress and could not risk showing weakness around men who would take him down like a pack of wolves at any first chance. But inside, he was roiling with doubt and frustration. He was frustrated that she had unnerved him so, and was shamed that he had left without parrying her question. He felt like he had let her have the last word and regretted it. But there was also a part of him that was glad she had outmaneuvered him. He respected her wit and enjoyed her debate. He could not speak like that with anyone else. He and his brother could parry ideas, until Sigefried's temper rose and ended the conversation. His men would challenge and jest with him sometimes, but he always had to exert his power in the end.

 _Power_. When had he given the Princess power over him? When he had kissed her in the field? When he had let her speak her harsh opinion of him without challenge? When he had walked into her trap to stay and debate with her? It was not lost on him that although she now called him “Erik” or “Lord Erik,” she had not offered him her own name in return. No, she was no stranger to power.

But the most troubling thing was that he did not want power over her. He wanted only her trust and regard, and he craved it as desperately as a man craves drink after battle.


	12. Chapter 12

Aethelflaed could not remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. It was a simple thing, foolish even, so much so that it made her feel some grief for the thin mockery of her life outside these walls. But it was a true pleasure. Kissing Erik on the hill had unleashed a ragged desire in her that was both pleasure and pain. But speaking with Erik as an equal, debating him on matters of state and religion and war, nothing could match that joy. Just as the coolness of the air had eased her discomfort, Erik's debate had eased and challenged her restless mind. In her lonely chambers, there was nothing to wrap her mind around, nothing to test her skill against, and it was that more than anything that was beginning to break her.

And Erik had not tried to shame her, or belittle her. He had not brushed aside her opinions as the foolish thoughts of a silly woman. He had countered them with his own, viewed them as worthy of consideration and debate. She had relished every moment of it, even when he made her question herself, when he had caused her to doubt her ideas about faith and war. She was not angry at Erik for his blasphemy, but curious about the man, and the life that had shaped him. It was the kind of conversation she had dreamed of having with Aethelred, husband and lord, before he had revealed that he enjoyed nothing more than kicking her like a dog. But Erik had treated her with respect. She found that it flared her desire for him like birch bark on freshly raked coals.

But even as she tasted the pleasure of it, she felt it too like the pang of a punch in her stomach. It came with a swelling grief and rage, a sense of loss that she had been given in marriage to Aethelred, and that now she was left to simmer hopelessly in her affection for a man she could never have, aching for him across a war and a world of distrust. Their regard for each other, honest as it may have been, was a hopeless thing, grim and broken before it had even started. And so even as she held her small joy close to her heart, like a secret, sacred token...even as she wished that Erik would return and would kiss her again this time and would pull her close with need on his face...even as she wished for all this and more, she prayed to God to make it stop.

The day passed, and another, and Erik did not return. Perhaps her prayers had been answered. Audr passed many of the hours with her, chatting idly and cheerfully, and Athelflaed tried to match her sweet, open nature. But her listlessness was becoming heavier and harder to bear. It was not just the need for Erik that tormented her. The guilt and shame of her confinement wore at her like a thousand small cuts, and she found herself welling with anger for Erik as often as she yearned for him. She felt helpless, and hopeless, a small thing tossed in the waves of men more powerful than herself.

On the third day, Audr came to Aethelflaed's chamber, flushed with excitement and the quick pace of busy-ness. She brought with her fresh water, and a few of the last sweet fresh herbs foraged from the meadow, and a mysterious bundle of finely woven cloth.

Audr had scented the water with Rosemary and Mint, and she smiled mischievously as she helped Aethelflaed wash and comb her hair, and sponged her neck and face and torso with the sweet, cool water.

“Is there a reason for this pampering?” Aethelflaed asked, soothed by the gentle touch. “Or do you just treat me out of love?” She teased.

Audr grinned and continued combing Aethelflaed's long, loose hair. “No, lady.” Her voice seemed to brim with excitement. “I've been ordered to bathe and dress you for a dinner tonight in the hall!”

“Dinner?” Aethelflaed whipped around in surprise. “With who?” She felt pleasure and fear fight in her belly. It would be like heaven to get out of this room, to see and do _something_ else. But she had no way of knowing what she would face when she left.

“Oh, important people, no doubt.” Audr said carelessly. “Lords, big mean warriors, the usual.” Aethelflaed could not help but laugh at her tone. It seemed that no one and nothing scared Audr. Aethelflaed wished she could be so brave. She knew she was protected from the lecherous touch of any man who would have her because she was a princess, and she was a grateful for it. But she couldn't help but envy Audr's small and clever anonymity, her quick-witted self reliance. It gave her a confidence that Aethelflaed did not have. “I'm sure the Lord Erik will be there.” Audr's teasing words cut through Aethelflaed's thoughts like a knife.

“And what if he is?” She answered sourly. Her feelings towards Erik had swung closer to anger throughout this day. And she liked to play contrarian to Audr's jests.

“Then you will be pleased to see him, no doubt.” Audr replied in her straightforward manner.

“Hmmmm.” Audr was now braiding Aethelflaed's hair, and she leaned back into the simple pleasure of it and tried not to think of Erik.

“You want to see him, I know it. So why deny it?”

“I want to stomp on his great big feet and kick him in his --” Audr gave a soft tug on her braid then, startling her and cutting off her words. But the girl was laughing openly at her joke.

“You will not do that, Lady!” She cried, in mock outrage. “You must not.”

“And what will he do, punish me?” She waited for Audr's jesting response, but there was only silence, as the girl's hands worked through her hair.

Aethelflaed was trussed up like a fine Danish lady now. Audr was no lady's maid, and the braids she had worked were simple, but they were even and tight, and the girl had seemed pleased with her work when she was finished. She had woven some of the last of the sweet marsh grass and a sprig of rosemary into Aethelflaed's hair and she caught a light cloud of honey-and-sun scent when she moved. The dress came in a two parts. First was a simple linen under shift, deliciously clean – with long sleeves that fit tight around Aethelflaed's wrists. Then Audr pulled the woad-blue over dress up past Aethelflaed's hips and pinned the embroidered straps with fine hammered copper broaches. The overdress was trimmed with a gilded thread trim, worked in a fine swirling pattern that Aethelflaed found simple and beautiful. She wondered where the dress had come from, and who had worn it before her. She felt like more of a princess than she had in weeks.

When she had completed her work, Audr squealed at the sight of Aethelflaed. “You will charm all the lords and big mean warriors, I am sure.” They both laughed at the joke. “I have to go,” she added with regret. “There is so much to do and I am needed in the kitchen.”

“I understand. Am I just to wait here? For what? For how long?” Aethelflaed asked, a little desperately. _For whom_?

“I don't know,” Audr voice was heavy with regret, but then her eyes twinkled and her tone shifted. “Maybe the Lord Erik will come and retrieve you.” She grinned suggestively at Aethelflaed as she left, and the princess could do nothing but roll her eyes in return.

Of course, it was Erik that retrieved her. She had waited a while longer, sitting primly on the small cot, trying not to rustle or soil her dress at all and making sure her hands were clean. She did not want to ruin Audr's work, and she could not deny that she wanted to look elegant for the dinner. She was still a King's daughter, and she would hold to pride of that, even in captivity.

When Erik had finally come, he had seemed nervous and excited. Was it on her account? Or was his mind busy with thoughts of the arriving guests? She could not deny her own excitement to see him. He had dressed finely as well, in a madder-red tunic, the cuffs and hems embellished with gilded embroidery like her own dress. His hair was finely bound and his beard neatly trimmed, and his sword and dagger hung from a brightly buffed leather belt knotted around his waist. She had never seen him in such a finery, and the site struck her.

“Good evening, lady,” he said, when she stood. His face was carefully drawn and gave no hint of emotion, but he stared at her for a long moment, as if drinking her in with his eyes. Was he struck by her too? Or did she look like a wet rat stuffed into a fine dress? She had no way to know. He broke the gaze, his distracted manner returned. “You must come with me to the hall. You are to eat with my brother and I and some local allies.”

“I figured as much,” she said dryly. “But I was starting to wonder if you'd dressed me up to just sit in my own filth all night.” He looked at her sharply, his thoughts driven from his mind and laughed shortly.

“No, lady. No, of course not.” He started to walk quickly, so that she had to trot to keep up. She did not feel very regal.

“But why? Why I am to dine with you?” She desperately hoped her voice did not come out as a whine. She felt like whining. She was out of her depth.

“To show you off, of course.” She was surprised at his gruffness. She had seen it, of course, when he spoke to the men. She had seen it when he had confronted the intruder in her chamber. But she thought he had tempered that side of himself around her. Now he was showing it openly. Was it because they were to dine with his brother? Or was it because this was who he truly was when he wasn't trying to trick her into his bed?

“Do not worry,” he continued. His voice was gentler now, as though he had heard her doubts. “There will be other ladies at the table. You are not meant to dine with a bunch of brutes. But be careful with my brother. He is not a man to test.” He gave her hand a squeeze, concealed in the folds of her skirts and continued striding away from her as swiftly as the wind itself.

The hall had been brought to order. Fresh rushes were laid and bright-flamed torches flared along the walls. The fire pits were filled to stave off the early autumn chill. Men ate and drank at the lower tables of the hall, their debauchery kept mostly in check. Aethelflaed sat at the high table, with the brothers and the guests of honor. Siegfried sat at the table's head, and Aethelflaed was seated between the brothers, with Erik at the right hand. The other guests were allies of Siegfried, local landowners in East Anglia who hoped to expand their holdings should the Northmen conquer Wessex and Mercia. Most were Dane, benefactors of Guthrum's seizure of the province. Guthrum, who was now Aethelstan. Some were Saxons as well, men who had capitulated to the Danes and been allowed to keep their lands. Some had even brought their wives.

These were settled men, not rogue warriors who fought for silver and glory. They had been established in the territory long enough to bring their wives and families from Daneland, or find new ones in Anglia. Aethelflaed felt more confident in their presence. These were the kind of men she had been surrounded by her entire life, men of wealth and status, even if they sat at the enemy's table. She knew well how to manage them.

It was Siegfried who was an unknown. The hulking man dominated the table, with his tempestuous bursts of laughter, his whip sharp raged dissolved with a word and a smile from his brother. He didn't direct it at his guests, yet he used it to control them. Erik may have been the cleverer of the two, but Siegfried struck fear in the hearts of men, and that was not something to be taken lightly.

“And we are treating you well, Lady, are we not?” Siegfried voice boomed from Aethelflaed's left side and his goblet crashed down on the table. She barely suppressed a startled yelp, but composed herself quickly. She smiled and responded.

“I have no complaints, Lord. Except, of course, the fact that I am kept hostage in the first place.” The table stilled with tension, and she felt Erik next her, stiff as a rod. Siegfried eyes narrowed at her challenge, and she had the good sense to feel a tremor of fear. But Siegfried was sharper than she gave him credit for. Why rail at her, when he could shame her?

“Well it is a good thing you are under the care of the brother, is it not Lady?” His smile cracked wickedly. “If you were my charge, I would not be leading you to private baths at the river.” He laughed heartily at his own joke.

Erik interjected, addressing the people around him and ignoring Aethelflaed. He spoke to them in a Danish dialect, but she could follow it well enough. “My brother Siegfried does not understand how the Christians place value on their women. Purity is at a premium. If she is despoiled by the heathens, her price will go down. It's easy enough.” Erik squeezed her hand under the concealment of the table, as if trying to give her reassurance, to wipe out the words he said for show. Maybe that's what he did. Or maybe he simply wanted her to feel his power over her as he shamed her. Either way, she pulled her hand away and he did not reach for it again. She had sat around and listened to men talk about her like an object before, even in her father's court. She would not let them tear her down here.

One of the women across the table from her spoke up now, kindly, boldly. She was a Danish woman, the lady of local lord of the Danelaw, but her English was clear, if heavily accented.

“You are a brave woman, Lady. And I am glad the Lord Erik is keeping you safe. I would not want to be let loose in Earl Siegfried's hall.” She said it with good nature, and the table laughed at it as a joke.

“And her ransom will secure our army.” Her husband added, as if it were necessary.

“It will indeed,” said Siegfried, and the table erupted in toasts to the gold they would share, and the land they would steal, and the glory they would win. All because of Aethelflaed.

Aetheflaed lost track of the conversation in time. The Danish accents and dialects became more opaque as she grew weary and slightly slurred with ale. She drank as little as possible, but it was disrespectful to refuse to drink when offered more, and so she endured with small sips. Siegfried did not temper his alcohol, and grew looser as the night progressed. The other lords seemed at turns in awe and in fear of him. Was this truly the man they wanted as their king? Did they think he could rule with temperance and justice? Erik jested and laughed with his brother throughout the night – it seemed they were always either arguing or laughing, and she started to weary of the noise. But she noticed Erik, too, was moderating his drink, despite his loose demeanor. Well, he was the clever one.

After a time, she caught a stray strand of the conversation out of the lull and lilt of foreign accents, and assuaged her boredom by holding and following it. “....and women, good women, we will bring over when the conquest is done. I alone have twelve cousins, fair haired and big boned. They are willing, eager even, to plow the rich Wessex soil and warm the beds of men. We will have good wives enough for all the men in this hall when the land is won!” The men at the table cheered and toasted to that, and when the din subsided, Aethelflaed heard herself speaking.

“The problem with that,” she said, “is that good wives require good husbands. And I'm not sure there's a good husband to be found in this sorry lot.” She gestured widely across the hall, where the savage drunkenness of the men was starting to get out of hand. The table stilled again, unsure if her statement was to be jest or insult. But she looked Siegfried straight in the face to find him smiling, and laughing, and then pounding the table as he crowed, and the group soon joined in. Erik laughed openly beside her and even dared to take her hand again.

“You are right, Lady. They are more fit for rutting dogs than women!” Siegfried chimed. Erik looked sharply between him and Aethelflaed, but she was not embarrassed by his course tongue. She had heard worse. “We will have to find some real men before you bring your women, Bjorn.”

“And where do you suppose we'll find anyone like that?” Erik was relaxed now, back to bantering with his brother, but he still held Aethelflaed's hand in his below the lip of the table. He pressed her hand open with his palm, tracing the edges of her fingers with his own. She could not help the thrill of pleasure that ran up her arm at his touch. “Do you know any good men, brother?” The laughter continued, a steady rumbling beat beneath his words.

“Well, what about you, Lord Erik?” It was Bjorn again. “You are in need of a wife, no doubt.” Athelflaed felt Erik stiffen, and his hand retreated in a breath.

“Yes, I think my brother is in need of a wife! Haven't you said as much, Erik?” It was Siegfried now. Erik was trying to maintain his easy temperament, but Aethelflaed could see the tightness in his smile. But the blade was still yet to fall. “After all, you cannot hump the princess forever.” The laughter was restrained now, suffocating under the growing tension. Even for the men who were here to pander to Siegfried blustering, it likely felt like an insult to shame Aethelflaed in her own company, in front of other ladies, as well. Aethelflaed hoped her face wasn't the sheet of flame that it felt like. For all her hope of regality, she could look no one in the eye now. Siegfried noticed the chill and huffed.

“It was a jest, brother. No more.” The manner at the table was still stiff. “You do not have to take a wife if you don't want.” He tried to turn the joke on itself, pretending the offense hadn't happened.

“I shan't brother,” Erik's voice was easier now. He was trying to take his brother's olive branch. Aethelflaed remained ignored, a burning bush in the corner. “And you shall not insult the Lady Aethelflaed in the company of our esteemed guests.” He laughed as he said it, as if it was a joke, trying no doubt to take the sting out of the challenge. Siegfried was not so easily fooled. He seemed to grind his teeth audibly and glowered at his brother darkly. But it seemed like he did not want to lose any more face in front of the guests.

“Indeed, brother. My apologies, Lady.” Aethelflaed was surprised. She had not expected him to address her directly, and she gave a tight nod in return. She wished for Erik's hand on hers again, and wished she did not wish it.

The feast proceeded with a shaky peace.

Aethelflaed was returned to her chamber shortly after, led by Erik's men. She was tired and shaky, loose and lightheaded from the strong ale. She found herself grateful for the cool darkness of her room, even though she had been desperate to leave it just a few hours before. Audr was not there, and she thought she was glad. There was a weary ache in her heart, and it was a ragged, lonely kind of pain that she would prefer to bear alone.

The evening had not passed too poorly, for all its tense turns and shame-filled moments. It had felt almost like home, among the flickering candlelight and the soft spoken words of praise and power. _So familiar_. It was in that familiarity that her breath failed to settle now. It was a queer, untenable feeling in her breast. She had felt something like it on the hill with Erik, before they had kissed, and before she had been lost to her lust, and her anger. It was as if she was looking through a window from a great distance towards the lonely smallness of her life. All the stories she had been told, all the people she had known, all the dreams she had held for herself, they all seemed to flit and dance in the light of that small window. She could turn towards that window, wishing to return to her life. She had wished it in some moments, even though she knew it would bring her back to the brittle pain of Aethelred's love. _And there was no where else to go, anyway_. She was a prisoner to her own fate.

But in this moment, something vast and ineffable seemed to stretch in the space around her, as if she moved in a world wide with choices. _What choices?_ She had no choices. And yet she could sense...something, an unknown edge in the night, calling her with a thrumming song. The small and lonely fire of her past life was just one choice, and its cold light had blinded her, so that she looked into the fertile space around her now and saw only darkness.

Her mother had often told her to listen to the voice of God, and she had often tried, although she was never quite sure what the voice of God should sound like, or how she would know it was Him who spoke. But she listened then, and in the quiet space she found a small unfurling seed. _An idea_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about languages: In the book, Old English and Danish are treated as distinct languages, while in the show the language problem is completely collapsed and treated as a non issue - everyone speaks English. From my research, I've learned that the different Germanic languages may have actually functioned more like dialects during this period. So for instance, Old Norse, Danish, and Old English would have been closely related dialects of the older proto-Germanic language that they all derived from. It is likely that these dialects could have been mutually intelligible to each other, to a point. So think of a thick Scottish dialect compared to a standard American English dialect. I've decided to treat the language problem in this way - so Aethelflaed can understand some of the Danish and Norse dialects, and the Danes and Norseman can understand English to a point as well. Lots of linguistic overlap, which is why English now has lots of Old Norse words in it :)


	13. Chapter 13

Erik let out a sigh, trying to release the tension of the evening from his body. It had gone as well as could be expected, matching his brother against the Lady Aethelflaed. Neither held their tongue, and his brother was a man who was quick to see an insult where there was none. Not that Aethelflaed had followed his advice. All in all, he wondered if his brother had gained some measure of respect for the Lady. It was impossible to say.

What he had gained, however, was the trust of the lords of the East Anglia who wished to support their conquest. Bringing the Princess had been a smart move, as much as Erik had fought it. “You want her all to herself, brother,” Siegfried had said. “You need to let our men see her, she is our wealth.” Erik had capitulated, unwilling to give ground to Siegfried assumptions about his attachment to Aethelflaed. Now the lords had seen their prize, and been assured that the ransom would be enough to ensure their swift victory. And Aethelflaed had returned to the safety of her chamber, away from the deep water stare and flint and steel temper of his brother.

Erik had not been able to walk her back himself, staying later at the table to deliberate strategy with the local lords, a conversation that Aethelflaed would not be privy too. And he did not want to add any more fuel to Siegfried's fire. So Aethelflaed had returned with Dagfinn, his most trusted man, and Erik had spent the rest of the night trying to keep her out of his thoughts. He was unsuccessful.

Finally, the fires were dying, the guests had retired, and even Siegfried was staggering to his chambers.

“You must sleep, brother,” he slurred to Erik, who remained at the table, staring pensively at the dying firelight. Siegfried was drunk – he must have been, to have made such a jest at Erik and Aethelflaed's expense, when he was otherwise so keen on keeping Erik out of Aethelflaed's bed. Erik wondered what it all meant, and what danger it posed.

“Of course I must sleep.” He smiled as he spoke. “I think I shall sleep on my ship tonight. I miss the rocking of the waves beneath me, and the night has not turned out too cool.”

Siegfried was too drunk to come up with a jest in return, so he merely nodded and disappeared into the dark. Erik might have gone to his ship. He could have sworn that he told his feet to take him to the docks, but they betrayed him, and he beat the familiar path through the courtyard, unwillingly, yet wanting to with all his being. It must have been the middle of the night, perhaps even close to dawn. Aethelflaed would be asleep no doubt. But he merely wanted to check on her – not to disturb her.

There were five men on guard through the night, and he was pleased the see that they were all awake and upright. Dagfinn was still on watch, and he gave a silent nod to Erik as he came down the corridor. He trusted Dagfinn with his discretion, but the other men might have looser tongues. He could only pray that their loyalty would hold. He slipped the bar quietly from Aethelflaed's door and entered.

He expected to find her deep in slumber but she stirred as soon as he came in. Perhaps she slept fitfully, as did he. She turned and rose, her eyes wide and confused in the dim moon-streaked light, until she recognized him.

“Lady, I will leave with your word. I.. I did not mean to disturb your slumber, only to ensure your safety and peace.”

“I was not asleep,” she said, and her voice was clear.

“I will leave you.” He turned awkwardly.

“Have I given my word?”

“What?” He turned back. Now it was he who was confused.

“You said you would leave with my word, and now you are leaving. I did not tell you to leave.” The stared at each other through the darkness for a long moment.

“You wish me to stay.” It wasn't a question.

“For now.” He couldn't read her. He could barely see in the dimness. Her form was silhouetted against the mist of list that came from the small window. She was clad in the under shift from the fine dress she had worn tonight. He remembered how lovely she had looked, clean and flush in the candlelight, her face a warm beacon beneath her dark hair. He had needed to force himself to look away from her as she sat beside him. He had needed to keep his mind captive from reeling in thoughts of her body, sat beside him. Even the touch of her hand against his had roused him.

“Lady-”

“Aethelflaed. Call me Aethelflaed. Please.” She had given him her name. He held it on his tongue like a kiss.

“Aethelflaed.” Was he drunker than he realized? Or did she move towards him, a ghost in the darkness, her hair flowing behind her like a train of stars? No, he was clear headed, for soon he heard her breath and felt her body close. There was something in the darkness that changed things. It felt as if all and nothing were permitted. There was no way to read her eyes now.

But then he felt her very close, so that her breath brushed his lips, and the space closed between them in a heartbeat. Her mouth was on his, testing at first, questioning, and then deepening. He rose to her like the sea beneath a fine ship and his kiss was deep and slow. This was not the frantic touching of their first encounter. This was something that had built longer and so edged with more intensity into him. He did not want to tear at her and touch every part of her skin. He wanted only to hold her still and taste her, as if he could hold the world itself with her in his arms.

He did not know when it had happened, or how, but they had edged towards a wall, and Aethelflaed was pressed with her back to the stone. He wondered if it was rough through her thin shift dress. But she opened to him, deeper. Her mouth was his to taste, her body loose beneath him, until she pressed and held herself against the planes of his chest, and then released and let him press to her.

“Lad- Aethelflaed.” He practically breathed the name against her, not wanting to break the kiss, but he had to speak. “Aethelflaed.” He pulled away, held her hands within his. Her face was still a shadow in the darkness, but he heard her breathing and could not stop himself from raising his hand to trace the edge of her swollen lips. She arched towards him, closing the distance, but he pulled away again.

“Aethelflaed. I... I am sorry for what happened tonight. I am sorry you were used in such a way. I am sorry I allowed that to happen to you.” Aethelflaed was silent. The mystery of her face haunted him, and he led her over to the bed, where there was slightly more light from the small barred window. He sat beside her, her hands still clasped in his. Her face was serene, and pensive. Somehow she looked far away.

“I have been used much worse than that, Erik.” She said it without emotion, as if stating a fact as simple as the season. It made his heart ache even more. He was lost for words. He exhaled and pressed his forehead against hers. Her eyes closed as she leaned into him.

“Aethelflaed. Who are you? How have you come so into my life, into my heart?”

She laughed. “I think we both know the answer to that.” He could not fathom her calmness, as if she had stepped out of the moon's dream. He was so wildly roused, his mind and body in disarray, and she was as steady as a gentle tide drifting out to meet him.

“I know. I do.” He tried to control his emotion. He did not want to scare her. “We brought you here – my brother and I. We keep you hostage. We cause you suffering. And yet you open to my kiss as if you want me as deeply as I want you.” He could not help kissing her again, as if to prove it, and she opened to him, and let him lose himself in her again. He forced himself to break away once more.

“I do.” She replied simply. “Want you.”

“But why? Why do you let me touch you like this?” He traced her throat with his fingers. “What have I done to earn your trust?”

She sharpened then, as if coming into focus from a hazy distance. The moon had retreated from her face and something stiffened in her core. He felt his heart falling, failing within him. “You do not trust me.” He said it without a question.

“You are a good man, Erik. I have no doubt about that.” She was the woman he had grown to know now, collected, gentle, strong. He was glad to have her back, and still wondered at what had been lost. “I know you care for me. And I care for you. I have made amends with my desire for you. Though my husband would disown me and my God likely judge me for it, your gentleness and your respect these last weeks, these have been some of the most tender things I have ever known.” He had never heard her voice falter like that, as if she was holding back tears. The sound threatened to destroy him. “So I will not deny myself that comfort while I can have it.” She looked at him, and he knew his face was stiff and grim in the dim light.

“And yet,” she continued. “You play a part, Erik. I have seen you as the gruff and hostile warrior, a worthy match for your brother, a leader of raiders who would kill my father and claim his crown. I have seen you speak of me in front of others as though I were little more than cattle.” Erik's stomach turned at that, his shame rising like bile. He had known it had hurt her, his ruse at the table, he had regretted it as soon as it had happened. He had only wanted to dissuade his brother's hound nose from sniffing out his weakness.

“Aethelflaed -” But she interrupted him and continued.

“And I have seen you in such kindness and gentleness. I have seen you treat me with respect no other man has afforded me. The respect of an equal.” His heart rose as he looked at her moon smooth skin and wished he was the man she deserved.

“And so I know that you play a part. I'm just not sure which one is the true Erik, and which one is the mask.”

“And what if they're both the truth? The true Erik? Is that a man you could trust?” He hoped desperately that his voice did not reflect the desperate plea he felt in his heart. “I belong to all of my Gods, Lady. I am neither wholly good, nor evil.” There was silence for a long while, and he feared she was truly lost to him.

“Would you let me go?” She asked finally. Her voice was as controlled as usual, but there was something in the moment that made him feel the pluck of the Spinners' strings on his shoulder. “Would you sell me back to my husband in exchange for the silver to fund your brother's army?” His heart was pounding now. He did not know where fate was leading him, but he would soon be lost to it.

“Is there any other option?” His mind reeled, his heart and voice thick with astonishment. “Would you _stay?_ If... I claimed you. Would you stay?” He had never dared to consider it.

But she was shaking her head. “Your brother would never allow it.” He silently cursed Siegfried, and himself, all the threads of the story he was trapped in now. Aaethelflaed was not rent with emotion as he was, and it rent him even further to see it. She had accepted their fate, and now she would drift from his life and never know the truth of him.

But there was something in her face, a trick of the light maybe. It gave him pause. In that moment, he did not see a woman coolly resigned, but a queen, ripe with determination. _She had a plan_.

“Aethelflaed,” he said, and when she turned he saw the smile in her eyes. “Tell me. Tell me what I must do to earn you....to earn your...trust.” His mind staggered for a moment. He had almost said _love._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this chapter includes mentions of SA and marital abuse

Aethelflaed looked at Erik's earnest face in the low light and felt a pang in her heart. “I don't...have a plan, Erik.” She knew that he thought she did. “Just ideas...dreams.”

“What do you dream?” She had never seen him so open, his emotions so clear on his face. Even with all of her wary distrust, she could believe in his regard for her at that moment.

“Of escape.” It was a simple thing to say, but it was heavy with risk. Erik may have desired her, but it did not mean he would help her leave the fortress. “From my husband, at the least.” She added, because it was the truth, and it served to soften the first revelation.

Erik seemed lost in a desperate thought. “I would pay your ransom, Aethelflaed. I would, if I had the wealth.” She nearly laughed at the thought, and the foolish passion of men.

“I would not let you do that, Erik.” She touched his face gently as she said it. “I do not want a ransom paid for me. I do not want to be the cause of the destruction of my home and my people.” _The way of war_. She would not let him use that meager excuse, not now. 

“So you wish to escape before the ransom is paid?” She tensed at Erik's words. It was a moment of truth, a fork in the road. 

“Of course that is what I wish.” And it seemed less heavy now to say it, an obvious truth. 

“How would you leave? Where would you go?” Erik was confused. She wished she did not have to lead him onto the ne x t stone in the path, but she did. She looked at him evenly and saw his face full of need and fear in the darkness. 

“We could leave together.” It was almost a whisper, but it came out even and strong. “You and I.” 

Erik's eyes widened at her words. “Together? You would...want me? You would want to be with me?” Aethelflaed traced her fingers along the lines of his face, her heart warming with hope. 

“I can think of worse fates.” Erik seemed to be gripped by a surging need and leaned in quickly to kiss her. She returned it, feeling the pleasure of his regard. But he was pulling away and his face was falling as if the hope had slipped from his fingers. 

“We would ruin Siegfried's plan.” He said bitterly. “He would not be King of Wesse x .” So he would turn against her now. She fought for the tenderness of the moment that had passed. 

“Maybe Siegfried is not meant to be the King of Wesse x . Maybe it is not his fate, and he will find another path.” 

“And it is our fate, to run away together? To be fugitive lovers?” He smiled sadly as he said it. 

“Maybe,” Aethelflaed said, and she knew it was plea. Erik leaned his forehead against hers and held her face between his hands. 

“I would have you Aethelflaed. I would have you for my own, any way I could. I think I would even forsake my brother for you. And you...you would have me? Truly?” There was a rawness, a vulnerability in his voice, and Aethelflaed realized that he might have doubted her regard for him as well. 

“I would be yours, Erik. I would let you claim me. We would be together. We could stay together.” Erik surged forward and kissed her on the forehead, gently but fiercely, a claiming need in his touch. 

“I would like that,” was all he said. 

They found no plan, in that night, only comfort in the closeness of each others bodies and the tenderness of the promise they had forged together. Before, Erik had been lost, a wild man sick with need for her, but now he drifted among distant formless thoughts, trying to grasp an edge of an idea that would set things on the right path. Aethelflaed had fallen asleep on the double-wide cot, her tension easing and the sleeplessness of the night catching up with her. Now she lay in dreaming while Erik sat awake and watched her.

Would he really forsake his brother for her? Could he? As the thought came, she stirred slightly and her face glowed in the low rising light and he knew in a moment that he would. It was not a lack of love he felt for Siegfried, who was his oldest and greatest friend. It was the realization, fleeting yet full forced, that the Gods were giving him a chance. He had enjoyed his life by his brother's side. He had found his taste for the fight, and his pleasure in the riches that could be won with a sword and a good ship. At one time, he would have asked for nothing more.

But compared to the life that was offered to him now, those memories seemed dim and bloodless, as if bleached of color by sun and wind. Instead he saw the promise of the golden woman in front of him, the chance for children and a home where they could love each other and be safe. _Could they ever be safe?_ Fugitives, on the run, from Alfred and Siegfried both. There would be no rest. And yet, he would still choose her. _I would be yours_ , she had said. _She will be mine_. 

Erik had felt sleep tugging at him as well, even though he knew the dawn approached. He lay beside Aethelflaed on the wide cot, promising himself no more than the comfort of a moment before he would get up and leave her to the day. But then she had stirred suddenly, as if startled by his presence, and she awoke with a start and shout. A bad dream. 

Erik reached for her without thought, wanting to ease the fear she had felt on waking, but at his touch, she whimpered and writhed in fright. Erik was aghast, as her eyes grew wider and more wild. She looked like a spooked filly, unable to find her footing in a new and unknown place, rearing wildly in blooded fear.

“Aethelflaed, it's me. It's Erik.” He did not reach for her, but still she pushed away from him and he rolled himself away from her, trying to ease her distress. “It's Erik.” And the desperation bled into his voice, for it felt like his fears were confirmed. In truth, she did not care for him. He was a terror, as her husband was a terror, and she was forced to choose him to free herself of the other. Those were the words his fears spoke to him in that dark moment.

But then her tension eased, as if she had heard his voice through her panic, and she turned to look at him. Her breath ran ragged from her throat and her arms still held him at bay.

“Erik.” She said it, as if reminding herself.

“Erik.” He echoed back. And she gave a small moan of relief, and Erik felt his heart rise as his fears retreated. She did not ease closer to him and he left the space between them, although he still lay down beside her. He did not want to move, not even to sit up, in fear that it would spook her again.

“I dreamt...I dreamt of Aethelred.” She said simply. “And I woke from the terror of it.” She breathed deeply. “And when you touched me, I thought you were him and I was back in his bed, and the panic was too much to bear.” Her voice was tear-stricken now. He felt her pain as a driving grief in his own chest.

“Aethelflaed, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I frightened you.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “If it had been Aethelred,” she looked at Erik warily. “Instead of you. And if I had woken in his bed in fear and pushed him away from me....” Erik did not rise to fill her silence, although he was unsure if she could finish her thought. She looked away. “He would have beaten me for it. He might have used me too, just....just to prove that he could.” Erik felt sick. He had known many cruel men in his life. He followed a man he loved, a man who could often be cruel. Siegfried was not a gentle man, Erik knew, but he knew also that his brother would never treat a woman that way. And this was the man to whom she was bound. This was the man who her ransom would send her back to.

“I am glad it was you.” Aethelflaed said, but her voice was soaked with grief and winnowed fear. Erik did not move, but she surged towards him then, and buried her face into his chest, and sobbed. He could do nothing but hold her gently as she wept her pain against him in the rising light.


	15. Chapter 15

News came from Haesten's group the next day. The envoy had been spotted – they had crossed the river from Wessex and were now approaching Beamfleot on horseback. Haesten had moved to intercept them on the road. They would arrive in a day or two, most likely.

These were the small whisperings that Audr brought back to Aethelflaed's chamber. The girl was a good spy, and was always pleased to share a secret she had won by means of her quiet, unobtrusive presence and her keen senses.

“And the Lord Erik?” Aethelflaed asked. “He knows they are coming?”

“Yes, of course.” Audr's eyes were curious. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Aethelflaed answered shortly. But she was thinking of their quietly whispered conversation in the darkness of her chamber, when she had revealed her deepest, most secret wish and he had...what? Agreed? She still did not know where his heart truly lay. Even as she wished to open to him and to trust him, she feared a cold betrayal. She had gone to her wedding night with tender girlish hopes about what her husband would be like, and the veil had been pulled back on her dreams so quickly and violently that she still woke in fear from the memory in the night. She could not trust in what she thought to be true so easily, not again. But Erik had held her so gently as she had wept out her fear and pain, and he had kissed her with such tenderness when he left in the early dawn light. Her heart ached as she recalled it, but no ease came to her.

She needed to see him again, to try to read him and know his mind.

“Audr.” She said it suddenly. “Can you deliver a message for me?”

“To the Lord Erik?” Audr's voice was flat and dry, and Aethelflaed got the sense that the girl wished to roll her eyes..

“Yes.” Aethelflaed answered, sheepishly.

Audr took a breath, and loosed a mischievous smile. “What shall I tell him?”

Erik arrived a few hours later. He seemed stressed as he hurried into Aethelflaed's chambers, looking behind him as he went and closing the door to bar their conversation from the men outside.

“What is it, lady? You needed to see me?” He came close to her and spoke lowly, but he did not reach out to touch her or kiss her. She wished he did.

“I...” Aethelflaed suddenly felt embarrassed. Was he frustrated with her, calling him to her chamber at every wish and whim? Did he think her a spoiled brat? “I heard the envoys will be here soon.”

Erik nodded. “They will.”

“Then I would like to have another bath,” Aethelflaed said simply. Erik looked at her for a moment and nodded, his eyes becoming distant as if he were already thinking of something else.

“It shall be done. You can go this afternoon with Audr and the men.”

“No.” Aethelflaed looked him in the face as she said it, and dared to grab his hand. He looked confused, and flushed at the touch. “No, I wish to go with you, alone.”

Erik looked at her for a long moment, his mouth slightly open, with a line between his brows. “I..” He stopped, and started again. “In the daytime? I don't know if that is wise, lady.” He was playing the formal Lord now, trying to push her away. She felt a surge of desperation rise inside of her.

“Then tonight, under cover of darkness, if that is better.” She thought she saw his throat bob nervously at her words.

“Aethelflaed.” He had come closer to her, and placed his hands on her shoulders as he spoke. “You wish to go alone...to bathe...with me...tonight?” She nearly laughed at his stutter of a question.

“I wish to breathe cool air. I wish to get out of this dank room. And yes...I wish to be with you.” His fingers were stroking small circles on her shoulders now, as if he could not help himself but to touch her. She felt the touches shooting down her arms and into to her chest like warm and tingling flames.

“Aethelflaed,” he said with a bracing sigh. “It is dangerous...it is delicate.” She felt like he was hiding some truth from her.

“Tell me,” was all she said.

Erik sighed again. “My brother trusts me to keep you safe and well-guarded, but some of the men already suggest that I cannot be trusted in your company – that I have grown too attached. If he suspected that I...that we....” he struggled to find the words. “That we had turned towards each other...he might take you out of my care. He might give Haesten charge of you...and Haesten....” He drifted off.

“Haesten is the man who attacked me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” He gave her a hard, piercing look in the eye. “There is danger, lady. For all I know, any of the men could be scheming to steal you, and so have the ransom for his own. I would not risk you.”

“There is always danger.” She looked back at him with as piercing a look as he gave her, and then she kissed him slowly and deeply on the mouth. She pulled back to find him with his eyes still closed, an expression of unmet need on his rough face.

“Aethelflaed.” His voice was small, almost shy. “Are you using me?” He opened his eyes as he said it, and she saw the raw vulnerability within them. “I....could not bear it. I am losing myself to you, Aethelflaed. I could not bear it if your regard was false.” She had shared with him her tender hopes and raw fears in the darkness of the night, and now he spoke his own. She reached out to touch his face.

“You have been so concerned with earning my trust, and here I have not even thought of how I must earn yours.”

“I do not doubt you, lady.” The words surged from him. “But I...”

“It is a fair question,” she cut him off. “What can I do to earn your trust, Erik?” She didn't ask it with anger, with the an honest levelness to her voice. “How can I prove to you that I ache to see you? That I crave your touch? That my heart and mind turn to you unbidden, dreaming of...something I do not know yet. Something we will find together, perhaps.” He did not press her to him, or kiss her then. But he squeezed the tops of her shoulders with a quick urgency. She wondered if he too felt the thrill that thrummed through her body at her words – and his touch.

Erik was gazing at her with a deep, searching look. “I must go now, Aethelflaed.” Her heart dropped in fear, a quiet hole blooming where it had been. He would turn away from her now, and be lost. She stepped back, turning her eyes down, loosing her arms from his grip. “But I will return for you, tonight? I will arrange it, if you wish.”

The sense of aching loss left her in a wide and wild breath. “Yes. I would like that, Erik.” And he smiled at her for a long moment, and kissed her quickly on her forehead, before he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I wanted to add a note on dates and ages because it will become relevant in the next chapter. 
> 
> In the book, Erik is 20 or 21, and Aethelflaed is in her teens. Obviously, they've been aged up significantly in the show. I've chosen a middle ground, so Aethelflaed is supposed to be about 20 and Erik is 28. 
> 
> The real Aethelflaed was born around 870, so therefore, this story takes place in 890. The book Sword Song is supposed to take place in 885 - that is when London was retaken by Alfred's forces from the Vikings and likely around when Aethelflaed was married. But this story just doesn't work for me if Aethelflaed is 15. So im playing a little fast and loose with history, as well as with the timeline of Uhtred's life. 
> 
> But f*ck it! Its not his story, and its an AU fanfic anyway lol. 
> 
> Another relevant reference point - the Battle of Ethandun was in 878. So Aethelflaed would have been 8 at the time, and - in my story - Erik would have been 16. 
> 
> All this info will come in handy in the next chap, I promise!


	16. Chapter 16

They left the fortress under the cover the dusk. Erik had brought two dark cloaks, tattered things – the kind of garb that a servant would wear. He had the good sense to bring two heavy bottomed buckets as well. Anyone who saw them would think they were fetching water for the kitchen, or out on another of the infinite tasks required to keep the camp operating smoothly.

As they left, Erik had a tense and quiet word with one of his guards, and Aethelflaed guessed he was swearing on her own safe return and binding the man to discretion. Then they shuffled down the corridor, hoods drawn, to wind their way out of the keep. They went by way of the kitchens, and Aethelflaed saw Audr as they passed, staring listlessly at the coals of the low fire she was tending. Her eyes grew round with confusion and concern when she noticed Aethelflaed and Erik passing, their faces submerged in the darkness of their cloaks. But Aethelflaed gave her arm a squeeze and smiled reasssuringly at her as she passed, as if to say _All is well_. She could feel Audr's eyes burning into her back as they left, and knew the girl would be bursting with curiosity to know what had passed – what would pass – that night.

The beach by the river was cooler now. The sun was setting earlier and earlier, and the meadow lay barren in the fading light. But it was a warm night, one of those nights that straddles summer and fall and makes you believe that winter will never come. The water still held the heat of the day's sunshine, and Aethelflaed relished it as she dragged her feet through its current.

Erik sat on the beach, while she stood knee deep in the tide, her shift pulled up around her legs. He chewed a willow twig that he had picked, smiling as he remembered her suggestion. She could still taste the willow sap in her mouth, and wondered what his would taste like if they kissed. _When they kissed_. There was little doubt that they would kiss tonight, that Aethelflaed would feel his body close against hers again. But for now, a tender tension stretched between them. They had barely touched on the walk down, and rested apart now. Perhaps they were saving themselves for what was to come.

Aethelflaed could resist the urge to submerge her body no longer and she made to pull off her shift. She thought she would see Erik's eyes on her, and she knew she would not have minded his regard. But she noticed that he looked away casually as she undressed, as if distracted by something, and his eyes did not return to her until she had covered her body with the flowing water.

Now he stared at her, something like hunger in his eyes, and she felt her body flush even as it was surrounded by coolness. She struggled to find her voice. “You do not bathe?”

Erik looked surprised, and a little offended. “Of course I bathe. I washed just this morning.”

Aethelflaed smiled. Her tone was playful. “Ah...a bowl of water, splashed on your face and hands? You call that a bath?” And she pushed back as she said it, so that she drifted away from the shore, her body still covered by the dark water.

“It does the job.” Erik seemed stiff. Was it her teasing or his lust that gave him pause? She wondered.

“Perhaps you worry that a bath would weaken your tough warrior's skin.” He laughed. “Or perhaps you simply can't swim and are embarrassed for me to know it.”

He laughed truly then, a gentle growl in his voice. “I've been swimming since I could walk.” He countered. “My father would not let any of his sons so much as look at a boat without learning to swim to the ocean's tide. He feared a drowning fate for us.”

“Ah.” She smiled again. “So you have no excuse.”

Her fixed with a hard, burning stare. “You wish me to bathe with you, lady?”

“I do.”

“And you will look away as I strip, as I did for you?” She felt the flush reach her cheeks now, and wondered if he could see it on her face.

“It is funny, how often men seem to crave the vision of a woman's nakedness. And yet they cannot bear it when fixed with regard in return.” But she had to admit that he did not seem shy of his body as he pulled off his tunic, revealing the blond hair of his chest and the powerful muscles of his abdomen. Nor did he swagger or strut as he pulled off his trues. He merely revealed himself to her, and his face was open and unreadable.

“I can bear your regard, lady.” He strode as he said it, covering himself in the cool water, so that only their heads floated, gazing at each other above the darkness. Aethelflaed's body was alive with a desire as deep as she had ever known. She did not pray to God to take it away.

Though they swam naked a handful of paces from each other, Erik and Aethelflaed did not touch, or kiss. There was a strange quality to the moment, a sense of sacred stillness, and it held no space for their open lust. It still burned in Erik, and seemed to simmer on the surface of the water, charging the air like the moments before a lightning strike. But he simply floated in the water, letting it hold and surround him, waiting for the fate of the night to unfold.

“You are a strong swimmer, Lady Aethelflaed.” He still could not help himself from calling her “Lady,” even as she swam naked beside him. She was a great and shining thing, and he could not resist addressing her with formal flattery.

“I learned when I was child. From Lord Uhtred, actually.” She laughed at the memory, and Erik wondered again at her feelings for the man. “My father was hiding in the marshes after Guthrum had taken Wintancester. Before the Battle of Ethandun. Everyone around me secretly thought we were all doomed to a tortuous death, but I was just a child learning how to swim.” She laughed again, and Erik saw a flash of that mischievous child in her now.

He had been a man when Guthrum had met Alfred on the battle field. A young man, still home in Norroway, but a man grown. He had heard tales of it for years afterward. And Aethelflaed had only been a child then. The distance seemed to grow between them, and he felt the weight of this strong, strange woman in his life. But she _was_ a woman now, there was no doubt about that. And the distance between them waned again.

“Were you at the Battle of Ethandun?” She asked, and the question startled him, although it should not have.

“No. No, I was still in Norway, with my family. Siegfried was so angry that he had missed it. I swear he thought that if he had been there, the Danes would have conquered Wessex.” It was strange to talk about that time, to speak of his family, and the men that he and Siegfried had been then. Little more than boys. It felt like a lifetime ago. Aethelflaed looked at him with a strange tenderness in her face that made him oddly self-conscious. He remembered her eyes on him as he undressed. He had tried to stay steady, to not show his shyness and so prove her jest correct. But inside he had desperately wondered if she was pleased by the sight of him.

She swam over to him now, slowly, and he felt his heart hammer at the thought of her cool, naked body drifting closer to his. They were close now, treading water, their arms and legs drifting lightly over each other as they did. He thought she might kiss him, and he didn't dare move. But to his surprise, she placed her hands on his shoulders and spun him around. And then her fingers were unbinding the leather cord that wrapped his hair, and she pushed him down gently so his head was submerged. He felt her, combing and washing his hair in the cool water, and he thought he had never known such gentleness in his life.

They sat on the beach now, clothed and dry. It had been too chilly in the growing night, and perhaps they had been too modest, to stay naked and wet in the sand. Aethelflaed sat behind Erik, combing and retying the tail of his hair, and he relaxed into her touch. She was gently tracing the tattoos that marked the shaved sides of his scalp, and she seemed to be lost in a thoughtful silence. Her fingers sent chills running down his neck into his groin.

“It's funny,” she said, finally. She was tracing the Raven that lay above his left ear. “It's funny that your brother's sigil should be the raven. You are the clever one are you not?”

Erik laughed. “My brother is more clever than most people realize. They often learn their mistake too late.” She stilled a bit, and he fretted. He knew she did not trust his brother.

“And your sigil is the bull?” Now she traced the pattern on his right side.

“Yes.”

She made a noise, of mirth or frustration, he could not tell. “I still think you should be the Raven, and he should be the Bull.”

Erik laughed again. “Well, I have the Raven, too. I share it with my brother, as his younger.”

“But your brother does not share the Bull?”

“No. The bull may be a fierce fighter, but he can also be yoked to plow a field.” Erik was conscious of the double meaning in his words, and wondered if Aethelflaed felt it too. He brushed the moment aside quickly. “My brother could never learn to be a farmer.” He laughed, remembering Siegfried's headstrong youth, his impatience with every task and chore, the havoc he wreaked. He had never stopped wreaking havoc.

“And you could?” They had shifted their bodies by now. Aethelflaed was no longer behind him; she had finished tying his hair. Instead, she sat beside him, where he lay with his hand propped on one arm, looking up at her moon-bright face.

“I had a farm once. A farm of my own. It was a small holding, but the land was rich and close to the sea. The fields caught the Southern sun and fattened the grain. It was a good place.” He missed that farm sometimes, and the fog that would roll off the sea to kiss his crops each morning.

Aethelflaed smiled. She seemed surprised, and he was pleased to have surprised her with himself.

“You lived there with your family?”

“Ah.” The blade dropped on him a moment too late, as he realized what must be spoken next. He looked away for a breath, but then returned his gaze bravely to her deep, curious eyes. “I lived there with my wife.”

Aethelflaed looked at him deeply, her face unreadable. “You had a wife?” Her voice was gentle, but some unknown emotion bled through her words. He wondered if she feared that he still did have a wife.

“It was a long time ago. I was barely a man.” _A different life_. “We had a child, too. A son.” He did not think of his son often, but the pain remained, a bloody buried thing that lived in his body always. Aethelflaed looked like she would reach out to touch him, but she did not. Her voice seemed to echo his grief back to him.

“What happened to them?” He took a steadying breath. He did not know if he could bear to share this story. But her eyes were so full of compassion. There was no one else he could speak his pain to.

“It was a bad year. The rain would not stop. The crops were rotting in the fields before the end of summer. Everyone was hungry, everyone was sick with it. It was a bad year.” He had traced these strands of fate so many times, trying to pull at them, trying to understand why it had happened the way that it did. Trying to find the knot where he could have made a different choice, and saved them. But it was fate, and there was nothing he could have done. “We called our son Tarvr, for the bull. We hoped he would have the strength of an ox.” He smiled sadly at the memory of his small golden haired child. His ghost of a child. “But he came at midsummer, and he did not live three moons. My wife followed him to the land of the dead soon after.”

Erik did not want Aethelflaed's pity. He could not bear to see her face stricken with a measure of his own pain. But when he dragged his eyes to look at her, she stared back at him with a steadiness and a strength that gave him heart.

“And what happened to you?” she asked now. He could tell that she burned with curiosity as he opened his life to her. He wanted to share it, even as it wrenched at him.

“I...I survived as best I could. Hunting when I had the strength. Scraping mollusks from the sea rocks when I didn't. Even the beasts in the forest seemed to wither and sicken. It was a _bad_ year. Cursed by the Gods.”

“How did you survive?” She pressed, more firmly now, as though in suspense as to how his own story would end.

“It was Siegfried. He...he had _Wavetamer_ at that point already. He made his living raiding. He could never have stayed on the farm. But his raiding season went late that year, and he did not come back till the fall. It was too late. Half the village was gone. Our mother, and our sister too, they'd been lost to the hunger and plague.” Erik could feel the ghosts of them as he spoke, the faces of the kin he had been sown and raised with, all the ones who had perished in that cursed year. “Siegfried saved my life.” He spoke plainly, without emotion. It was the truth. “He helped me get strong again. He brought onto me his crew. And he never let me go hungry again. We have been together ever since.”

Aethelflaed was touching him now, her hands soft on his face, and he closed his eyes to relish her touch. “I am glad that he saved you.” she said. “You have known great pain, Erik. Unimaginable pain.”

He looked up her fiercely. “We have all known pain. It is the world we live in. It's the world the Gods have seen fit to give us. A world of pain and hardship. But there is joy in it too. Joy, and beauty.”

“Yes. We have all known pain. But why is it that some men cannot help but be turned hard and cruel by it? To force their suffering on everyone around them?” Erik wondered if she thought of Siegfried as she spoke, and he wished she could have known the man he had been, before his pain had turned him hard and cruel. Maybe she was thinking of her husband as she spoke. She had known grave pain too, and he could never forget the helplessness he had felt as she had spilled her desperate sobs against him in the dark. “But some men are pushed to kindness, and seek to ease the suffering of the world. How is it that men can be shaped so differently by the same pain?”

He wondered if she saw in him the kind man that she described. He knew he did not deserve such esteem.

“Perhaps it is the will of the Gods.” Was all he said.

“Or the will of God.” She smiled ruefully.

“Perhaps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun historical note: Aethelflaed makes a joke about Erik's hygiene in the chapter, but in fact the Vikings are well documented as being invested in personal hygience. Grave goods from Viking burials often include earspoons, combs, toothpicks and other personal hygiene artifacts. One of my favorite little historical details is a record about Danish hygience practices, as follows: 
> 
> "It is reported in the chronicle attributed to John of Wallingford that the Danes, thanks to their habit of combing their hair every day, of bathing every Saturday and regularly changing their clothes, were able to undermine the virtue of married women and even seduce the daughters of nobles to be their mistresses." 
> 
> Now this may just be a piece of grumpy Christian propaganda against both Vikings and English women. And/or it may confirm what many of us have long suspected: hot Vikings were totally a thing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexiness awaits! Very explicit, consensual erotica content below. ;)

Something had changed in the quality of the night, as Erik had spilled his deepest pain and Aethelflaed had held it so gracefully in her gentleness. The intimacy between them had stretched and deepened, and the conversation had begun to feel drenched with unspoken need. They did not speak now, but looked at each other with a silent intensity. They both sat upright, their bodies close, and Erik dragged a finger lightly over the skin of Aethelflaed's throat as he stared at her. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyelids fluttering gently, the skin of her cheeks red and flushed. He thought they would kiss then, he ached for it, and leaned in to catch her with his mouth. But she pulled away gently and looked at him, deep in thought.

“Did you love her? Your wife?” He was surprised and slightly shamed by the question, as if he had been caught in some unfaithfulness. He wondered what answer Aethelflaed wanted from him, and then realized that she always wanted the truth. So he gave it.

“She was a good woman. A kind woman. We tried to be gentle to each other.” He remembered the way the light had flowed through Tófa's hair when she stood in the sun. How he had found her lovely and fragile, of how they had quarreled easily and made amends slowly. Of how she had blamed him, so bitterly, when Tarvr died. How she had not spoken to him until her own strength started to leave her. “I think...I think we could have found love together, in time.” _Cursed_. That is what their love had been. But in a different world, perhaps it could have been something else.

Aethelflaed stared at him, eyes burning, and he craved her thoughts more than anything. With her face in front of him, the ghosts of Tarvr and Tófa retreated. He would not abandon them, he could not abandon them. But he let them go to rest, and stared into the face of his future, shining like a dark sun in front of him.

“But it was nothing like this.” And he kissed her then, as if to prove it, as if to press all his fierce gentleness into her with nothing but his mouth. She rose to him, pressing close, and with a rustle of cloth, she was on his lap. Her legs were open and wrapped around his waist, her skirt raised above her knees, and could not restrain the growl of pleasure that came from his throat to feel her pressed against him. He felt himself stiffen, and wondered if she felt it too. She pulled away from him then, and he reeled at the distance, remembering another night on the hill when he had held her and lost her. He feared he would lose her again, his passion too fierce, his need pressing on her with too much force.

“I'm sorry, Aethelflaed -” he started to say, but she cut him off with another kiss, hot on his mouth.

“Erik.” The sound of his name on her tongue made his belly lurch with need again. “Erik, I..” Her hands were pressed on his face, her body angled above him as she knelt and rocked against him. Her hair fell around her shoulders like a rippled sheet of sea water. “Erik, you...” She seemed at a loss for words, and punctuated each pause with another kiss. “You have my trust. You have...my heart, Erik.” She said finally, breathlessly, and Erik felt his own breath rise at her words.

The air crackled between them now, and Erik felt the rising, writhing sense of fate that filled the space. It was the mark of the Spinners, weaving destiny around them now. Some might have said that Erik stood on the edge of a precipice. But he knew he was already over the edge, and falling into the unknown abyss where his fate lay.

“My heart is yours, Aethelflaed,” he returned, fiercely, simply. “My life...is yours.”

And it was done. They were bound. There were no priests to bear witness, no one to fulfill the ritual and speak the blessing of the Gods. The Gods spoke for themselves. Erik and Aethelflaed's threads were woven now, and only death could sever them.

The air around them thrummed with a queer intensity, as if the night itself were a rippling, shimmering thing, alive with meaning and purpose. The feeling simmered and seared in Aethelflaed's body, rising to her skin like bubbles from the bottom of a pot. Erik's body curved around hers, his arms strong and fixed behind her back, and she relished the feeling of safety and trust that she found in that shelter.

Every surge of desire that she had felt for Erik, over the long weeks, had been a new experience. The sense of need, of lurching anticipation, deep in her belly...the spark that flashed through her chest when Erik looked at her, or touched her, it had all been unfamiliar. But this feeling that rose in her now was something altogether different. It compelled her to press herself against him, straddling his waist still, rising the stiffness of his need so that she felt it against her belly. It compelled her to rock against him until he gasped in desperate pleasure. It compelled her to whisper the words against his mouth, her eyes closed in shyness, even as her body raged with the boldness of her need. “I want you, Erik. I want you...to ride me.”

Erik looked at her, for a fierce and burning moment, and then there was a lurch and he had pressed himself down on top of her. Her kissed her, moving his hands over her breasts, seeking the edges of her shift where her skin pooled naked in the air. She rose to meet his hands, and marveled at the fact that she felt no fear. Only desire.

But then his body was leaving her, and he was leaning back away from her, and she felt the loss like an empty ache. “What?” Her voice was wet with worry. She struggled to raise herself onto her elbows. “What is it?” His face seemed to have fallen, and he looked at her with some unknown emotion as he held his body away from her. She started to feel the twist of fear and shame in her gut. A feeling of shy vulnerability bloomed wildly within in. “Do you not want me?”

She knew it was a cheap shot, and Erik knew it too. He gave a short, loud laugh. “You know I want you, Aethelflaed. You must know that I ache to ride you.” Aethelflaed wished that he would crush back down on her body to prove his need, but he did not.

He sat back on his heels, crouching in the grass. His face and neck were flushed, his tunic rumpled by Aethelflaed's hands. He had a wide wild look in his eyes and his chest pumped with his heavy breath. He looked like a man who had been interrupted in the middle of a fight. He must have seen the vulnerability in her eyes then, for his expression softened.

“You...you deserve more than this, Aethelflaed. You deserve more than to be rutted in the mud like an animal.” She did not flinch at his coarse words. She could only think, as she took in his taut, feral body poised in the grass, that there were many worse things she could imagine than rutting wildly with Erik beneath the sky.

“I do not care, Erik. I would have you now, here. I want you, Erik.” She did not know if her voice carried the plea that she felt her heart.

Erik's face was creased now, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes seeming to reflect a plea of his own.

“Lady. We will have time. We will have the chance for a true...a true wedding night.” His voice was shy when he said it, and her heart thrummed raggedly at the words. _So they were bound now_.

“And what if we don't?” She knew there was desperation in her face now. “What if this is the only chance we have?”

“I will not let you go, Aethelflaed. I cannot give you up. Not now.” He had grabbed her hands when he said it, and held them fiercely to his chest, although he still kept his body at a distance. He still hoped to quell his need of her.

“And I will not go back to Aethelred.” Her own voice was as a fierce as Erik's now. “I will die before I go back to him, I swear it now.” Erik's face was taut with worry. “And if God chooses to take me up on that oath, than I would rather have you here, rutting like an animal in the mud, than risk not having you at all.”

She sat upright now, facing him, her face close to his in the dim light. There was fear in his eyes, she noticed, and it surprised her. “What are you afraid of Erik?” She reached out, hoping to trace his face, or touch her fingers to the roughness of his beard. He looked at her with a pleading worry, and she thought she understood his mind, even as she knew not how she did.

“You fear fate,” she said quietly. “You fear if you love me now, you will lose me later. You fear the wrath of your Gods.” _A cursed year_ , his voice echoed in her mind. His family lost, his wife and child gone. Of course he feared the curse of fate. He let out a shuddering breath, as if relieved that she understood.

But Aethelflaed felt no fear. She felt only faith, and the aching truth that they would be joined together, in that place, on that night.

“You will not lose me, Erik.” She did trace his face now, the curve of his cheek where the stubble of his beard began, the skin of his lips, warm with his ragged breath. “I am yours. I am yours now.” And now she looked him full in his blue-gray eyes, which had lost their sheen of fear, swimming now with need and desire. “Claim me. I am yours. Please, Erik. Please.”

Erik had never taken a woman unwilling to his bed. He had never even paid for the use of a woman's body, although there had been times when he had wanted to. It was not so much his high moral compunction. It was true that his pleasure evaporated in the presence of another's pain. But more than that, he had known the feeling of a woman, wet and willing beneath him. He had heard her cries of pleasure as her need was sated along his own. And knowing that pleasure, he had no desire to take a woman against her will. There was no honor in it, he felt, when the challenge and reward of wooing her was so much greater. Nor did he treat the winning of women as a game, as some men did. But he knew he was not an ugly man, and there had been times when he could have his pick of women he desired, and who desired him return.

But in all his life, and in all his modest skill, he had never had a woman beg for him to ride her. He had never had a woman who he ached for, with need and love, look him in the eyes and plead for his body. The experience of it now was too much for his brittle will. His old fear faded in the wake of the desire that gripped him. Aethelflaed's eyes were on his, half lidded and bright, her mouth open and barely glistening in the low light. And he let the need take him, and did not restrain it any more.

He took her mouth first, with his own, gently to begin, then pushing deeper into it with his tongue. He pressed his body down onto hers and pushed up her skirt with his hands so that it rucked up around her waist and revealed her naked thighs. Aethelflaed groaned at the roughness of his hands on the softness of her skin. He had to lean back and look at her nakedness in the glow. She had seen him, but he had not yet looked upon her body. He wished to bury himself in it now.

But first he sat back and lifted off his own tunic. Aethelflaed struggled up to close the distance between them, running her hands over the hair of his chest and sending aching bolts of need down through his groin. He reached out his hand to hold the back of her head, gripping her hair gently, and holding her gaze fixed on his own while he undid the tie of his trues with his other hand. He wondered if she would balk at the roughness of his touch, his control of her body. But she panted and whimpered with pleasure and bit her bottom lip as she looked at him, and he knew she enjoyed it.

Their eyes remained locked, as he took her hand and brought it to touch him, her fingers curling around the stiffness of him, caressing his need until a ragged groan escaped from his throat. They were kissing now, and Aethelflaed's hand was gone, but only so she could pull her own shift over her head and sit naked in the moonlight in front of him.

He thought his heart would break with her beauty, and with the gentle trust she gave him, sitting freely before him without shame or fear. He thought he could have loosed himself then, with one touch of her hands or her wet and open mouth. But she had pleaded with him, begged with him for her own pleasure, and he would not let her down.

He eased her back slowly, lowering himself onto her body, feeling the soft invitation of it beneath him. “Aethelflaed.” He could not stop the name sighing from his tongue like a prayer. He braced himself on his arms so he could still see her, and now his hands skimmed the tops of her breasts, circled the hollow of her navel, found the wet warmth of the cleft beneath her thighs. Her breath came heavy now, as his fingers stroked her, slipped inside of her.

“Erik. Erik!” His name was a plea on her tongue, and the need of it drove him into a quiet madness. “I am yours.”

“You are mine,” he echoed, surging toward her. “Mine.” He braced her hips with his hands as he said it, and guided himself inside of her. She gasped and squirmed as his cock entered her. She was tight and tense, her body pulsing around him tautly, and so he did not sink himself as deeply as he could have. He did not want to cause her any pain. Instead he rocked slowly, sliding in and out of her gently, so that she groaned when he retreated and gasped when he entered again. She was starting to ease and open herself to him.

The plea was back in her eyes as she looked at him now, arching as close to him as his body would allow. “Erik, please. Please!” He knew what she needed, and he could deny her nothing.

He rocked into her then, as deeply as he could, and their strangled gasps rose together at the intensity of it. Aethelflaed cried out beneath him, but he knew it was pleasure and not pain that loosed her throat. There was no retreat now, as he pushed harder and deeper within her, seeking their release together.


	18. Chapter 18

Aethelflaed lay in Erik's arms in the open air. He had pulled the ragged cloaks over their bodies to keep back the chill, but she still pressed close to his warmth. He lay on his back, so that the moon, half-waned and easing already towards the Western horizon, illuminated the lines of his face. Aethelflaed's head rested on his chest, and she counted his breaths and the pumping rhythms of his heart as she marveled in the closeness of him. Erik was all ease and relaxation now, the fear and doubt gone from his body as he traced her bare skin lightly with his fingers beneath the fabric of the cloak. She could feel his smile without even needing to look at his face.

She felt the same easy pleasure, the almost giddy feeling of loose trust that came after their need had been met and their bodies parted. But there was a small insistent anxious feeling rising in her as well. She swallowed to try to keep down the dread, but it only increased.

“Erik.” He groaned lowly in response, as if still lost in the memory of their pleasure-filled cries for each other. “Erik, what of the danger?”

“There is always danger.” He echoed Aethelflaed's own words back at her and she had to smile at his cavalier laziness. Their positions had switched so quickly.

“But it will only grow, will it not? Once the envoys arrive?” _Once the men discuss the money that will change hands for my life_. She swallowed again, but the dread seemed to have multiplied. Erik sensed her tension and worry. He shifted so that they lay side by side, looking into each other's faces. He held her face in his hands now and kissed her lightly, once on the lips.

“They will not take you back with them. Not now. They have only come to negotiate.” _To negotiate a price_. “We still have time.” Aethelflaed knew as much, but the knowledge did not quell her fear.

“But they will start to raise the ransom. They will beat the money of the people of Wessex and Mercia and they will expect the Princess Aethelflaed in return for their trouble.”

Erik looked away as if trying to conceal what he thought. “I will not give you up, Aethelflaed. Not for all the wealth of Alfred.” His voice was distant, and she realized he was trying to hide his own fear. She wished that he had a plan, a true plan, but he only had a love-spoken oath.

“We could leave, now,” she offered, a little desperately. “We've already made it out of the fortress.”

Erik looked at her with a longing smile. “On foot? With no provisions and only the clothes on our backs? I would not throw your life away, nor mine, even for the hope of having you all to myself.” He pulled her close and buried his face into her neck as he said it, and she could not help laughing, even in her mild shame. It was a dream, not a plan. Erik seemed to have lost himself in the closeness of her body, and he nuzzled and rubbed against her needfully. But she pulled away and stalled him.

“What would we need then? A ship?” Erik's eyes still swam with lust but he pulled himself back to the conversation with effort.

“A ship....yes. And men to crew it.” His hand still smoothed down her hip, circling her thigh, running down the roundness of her backside. She had begged for his touch before, but now she pushed his hand away roughly.

“Erik, I am serious.” He stilled, as if finally realizing the intensity of her emotion. “I swore to you that you would not lose me. I gave myself to you, Erik.” There was anger and grief in her voice now, she knew. “We need a plan, or we are lost.” Erik's eyes cleared and creased. Perhaps his mind had finally regained control of his body. He did not reach out to touch her again, but leaned back with a thoughtful sigh.

“You are right.” He agreed. “We will need a ship.”

“ _Wavetamer?_ ” Aethelflaed suggested, relieved that he had finally joined her in seriousness.

“No, not _Wavetamer,”_ he said with regret. “It requires too many men to crew. It is a warship. We will need a cargo vessel. Something smaller and more discreet, where we can hide below board.”

“And do you have such a ship?” She knew she sounded like a commander now, and wondered if it bothered him. But he looked at her openly, without frustration, and she felt her worry ease.

“Yes. Yes, I could get us a boat. I will need to secure men, loyal men, but that is possible.” He lapsed into silence for a moment. “Siegfried likes to keep the channel blocked as often as possible. So that boats cannot come and go without his knowledge. He will certainly keep it closed once your ransom is due to arrive. We will have to find a way to clear the channel.”

Aethelflaed had no idea how such a thing could be accomplished. But she was glad that Erik was taking her seriously now.

“And then what? Shall we live on a boat as wild rovers for all of our days?” She smiled as she said it, hoping to ease some of the anxious tension she had brought between them. Erik turned and smiled broadly at her, and she knew that all was well.

“I would like that,” he responded. She knew he wished to reach out and touch her again, to close the distance between them, and she wished for it too. She eased against him, laying her head on his chest again, and he sighed with pleasure and relief. “I...I heard of a woman once,” he continued. “They called her Aud the Deep-Minded. She was a queen, lady of the Viking King Olaf of Dublin.” Aethelflaed thought of her friend Audr, her name so similar. Her mind, too, was deep. “But Aud made her own way in the world. She traveled with her son Thorstein the Red and they had many adventures together. And when he died, she crewed a ship with freemen and sailed all the shores of the Northern seas. They say she settled in Iceland, at the edge of the world.”

Aethelflaed could almost see the lady in her mind. She imagined her as beautiful, but weathered and wild-faced, the cold ocean wind blowing through her hair.

“Was she real? Did she truly live?” She was surprised by the emotion in her voice. She wanted the woman Aud to be real, although she couldn't say why.

“I think so. My mother's sister swore she met her on on her travels. She said she was a fierce woman.”

“But she did settle.” _At the edge of the world_. Aethelflaed could not even imagine the place Iceland. She knew it was far beyond the ends of the maps she had studied as a child.

“We could go there, too. To Iceland. If you wanted.” Erik's voice was playful, yet serious. “They say it is a good land, cold and harsh, but livable. They say there are mountains that belch smoke and great pools of hot water that bubble up from the Earth as if warmed by the breath of a dragon.” They both laughed in wonder at that, as if daring such marvels to be true. Aethelflaed could almost see herself there, her face as weathered as the lady Aud's, tending blond-haired children on a wind-swept farm at the edge of the world. But the vision felt distant and hazy, and she knew it was not meant to be.

“I want...” she started, knowing her words would sound foolish and hopeless. “I want to live in my own homeland.”

“In Wessex?” Erik was startled.

“In England.” And her voice was hard with a deep emotion she did not understand. “I do not think I could live as an exile in a foreign land. I would ache for the land of the birth all the days of my life.”

“I understand.” Erik said quietly, and Aethelflaed remembered a moment too late that Erik was an exile, a wanderer.

“Do you want to go back? To Norroway? Do you miss it?”

“I do miss it, sometimes.” His voice was distant again, but it was not her body that distracted him. “But there is nothing left for me there.” He returned to the present. “I have come to build a new life for myself, in these lands. A new life, with you.” And he kissed her then, but it was gentle, and he did not lose himself in it. “We could go to the North, to Northumbria, or Strathclyde even,” he suggested. “Danes and Saxons live together in those lands, and only kill each other on Sundays.” He joked, she knew, but she still bristled slightly at his mild blasphemy.

“I have never been to the North,” she admitted.

“I have spent some time there. It is not as rich of a land as Wessex, but it has wild beauty.”

Aethelflaed laughed, a bit sullenly. “I know you've been there. Your brother took the city of Eoferwic, and I'm sure you were right there beside him.”

Erik was surprised. “You have heard? You are well informed, Lady.” He still used the formality as a teasing jest, and she knew he meant it endearingly.

“My father is well-informed,” she amended. “Your names were not unknown in his court.”

Erik laughed gruffly. To Aethelflaed's surprise, he turned her so that her back pressed against his front and his arms encircled her tightly. “And did you ever think you would take your pleasure in the arms of the fearsome Lord Erik?” He pushed against her with his body, and she could feel his need rising again. She laughed easily at his joke, and pressed back lightly against his lust. He groaned.

“No, that would have been entirely beyond my imagining.” But even as the need started to rise in her again, she saw her father's face in her mind, and she thought of the spies that he had spread all across the land he called England. The same spies who had brought news of Erik and Siegfried years ago. Erik felt her tension and eased his body away from hers. Perhaps he still remembered her reprimand at his need.

“We would be hunted like fugitives, in the North.” She said bitterly. “We would have no rest from my father's spies.”

Erik sighed. “We will always be fugitives, no matter where we go.” Aethelflaed's heart bruised at the quiet resignation in his voice. This was the life they were choosing.

“Is this how Máni feels? Chased each night across the sky by a wolf?” Her voice was small and thin, but Erik laughed lightly.

“Perhaps my mother did not save me from that fate.”

Aethelflaed wanted to give in to the simple pleasure of Erik's touch, to lose herself again in the soft dream they held between them in that moment, beneath the stars. But there was something that still nagged at her, something she still felt she had to express. She wasn't even quite sure what it was.

“My mother has never been called a queen.” She could feel Erik's confusion at her words, which seemed to come from no where. “When I was a child, I thought she was a Queen, and I thought I would be a Queen, too. But they do not even let her sit in on the Witan.” She could see her mother's sharp face now, how quickly it shifted between anger and kindness. She knew her mother held her bitterness close, for all her formal demurring. “But I had always heard stories of the Queens of Mercia, and I thought...I thought when I married Aethelred, that I might be...not a queen, but an equal at least.” She struggled with the words, still unsure of what she was trying to say. “I thought I would rule by his side, and have some measure of control over my own life.”

Erik was silent. His body still lay tautly behind hers, his arms still offered their encircling protection. “You will not go back to him, Aethelflaed.” He said simply.

“I know.” There was a note of frustration in her voice. “I know. But.. I cannot say how I know it, Erik, but I... do not think it is my fate to be a ship's woman, or a farm wife. I wish it was sometimes. It would be so simple. But...it's not.”

The words hung in the silence between them. “What is your fate, then?” He asked. His breath was close to her ear, his arms tightening as if in tender fear. She knew he feared fate.

“I don't know. I...I don't know.” It was the truth. “But whatever it is, I think you'll be by my side.” She eased back into his body then, relaxed now that she had said her piece, even if it made no sense. Erik felt the offer of her body, and the promise of her words, and rose up to meet her. He kissed her shoulders and opened his hands to hold the roundness of her breasts. The cool roughness of his hands send shivers through the softness of her skin, and she gasped. She could feel it now, his need to claim her again, to give her his body and know her pleasure with his own. She had never known that carnal love could be like this. She had never imagined that such ecstasy could come from the body of a man. She had known only pain in Aethelred's bed.

She stiffened now, thinking of him, and how he had only ever used her from behind, without care or tenderness. She felt Erik behind her now and the memory flooded her body with fear and she squirmed to get away from Erik's touch. His breath caught at her distress and he released her, easing his body away from hers.

“Aethelflaed, I'm sorry --” His voice was strangled. “We don't have to...I didn't mean to...” She heard the gentle regret in his voice, the truth of his desire to not hurt her or scare her. She eased a bit, allowing her back to touch him again. She was not in Aethelred's bed, and everything was different now. Erik was a different man. The fear drained from her heavy limbs, and she welcomed the safety of Erik's arms.

“It's okay,” she said with a heavy breath. “It's alright. You didn't do anything. I am well.” And she dared to push up against him as she said it, grinding the softness of her backside into the hardness of his body. The desire was rising again. Erik gasped.

“You...you will have me? Like this?” And he nudged her legs apart with his knee and pressed his need against her, as if to show what he meant.

“Yes,” she said raggedly. “Yes.” He grunted as he slipped inside of her. She was still wet, and it was easier than it had been before. He came to her with a depth that made her cry out in mingled pleasure and pain, and with her cry, he eased a bit. “Erik, I....I've never.....This is...” Her words were raving nonsense, she knew. She had no language to express what she meant, but she wanted to make him understand her tender openness, her vulnerability, her need to have him plow her so deeply and her fear to let him do so.

He seemed to understand, even with her useless words. His hand, which had been gripped tightly to her hip, slid down between her legs, caressing her gently until she groaned. “That's good, Erik.” she said breathlessly. “That feels so good...” He only growled and bit her gently, where her shoulder met her neck. And suddenly, he was as deep inside of her as he could go, and there was no pain. He touched something within her that had no name but need and spoke no language but the cry of a lover. Soon they were both lost in it.


	19. Chapter 19

The envoys arrived the next day. A messenger came early in the morning, a scout from Haesten to inform Siegfried of their imminent arrival. The fortress was in a mild uproar at the news. The men had been taut and tense in the weeks since Aethelflaed's capture. Finally, they would be taking another step towards their ransom, and their war.

Siegfried was in a good mood. He had rallied the men with a rousing speech, explaining that they would await the envoys' arrival in the courtyard, and that the men should be battle ready. He did not plan to fight a battle, Erik knew, but the more fearsome they all appeared, the more likely the envoys would settle for a higher price to ensure Aethelflaed's safety. Siegfried was always good at inspiring fear.

Erik himself stayed quiet, smiling congenially when Siegfried looked to him, hoping to share his excitement, but speaking little. He feared revealing the turmoil that had raged inside of him since the news of the visitors. And his head was still desperately lost, adrift in memories of the night before. He felt like he was a boy again, constantly flustered by his rising cock, his mind always turning to thoughts of pretty women. But it was only one woman who swam in his thoughts now, and every time his mind played over their pleasure, it was also plagued with his fear of what was to come.

Now he had to collect his emotions, and prepare himself to pretend that he would bargain away the woman he loved for a chest of a silver. _And then what_? He still did not know.

They arrived by midday on foot, with Haesten and his men leading them on horseback. Erik recognized the Lord Uhtred in front, with a handful of men surrounding him who Erik did not know. Uhtred's men, he guessed. To his surprise and disgust, Aethelred accompanied the party as well. He recognized the man from the time he met him on the bridge at London, before Uhtred had let him and his brother leave with their ragged men. Erik had not liked Aethelred then – he had thought him almost comical in his spoiled confidence. Now he saw only a man who he would enjoy fighting to the death.

Erik wondered why Haesten had not sent news of the identities of the envoys with his scouts. Haesten would have known Uhtred by sight, and Aethelred stood out like a sore thumb as well. Erik never doubted that Haesten had his own schemes in motion, and likely withheld the knowledge for some unknown end towards his own gain.

Erik greeted Uhtred formally, stiffly. He was pleased and nervous to see the man. Uhtred was a man of honor, and Erik trusted his word. He would rather treat with Uhtred than any of Alfred's other dogs. But Uhtred was still Alfred's dog, and a clever one at that. It would be hard to get anything past the man. Now Erik stood silently, as Siegfried bantered menacingly with the warrior, and calmed his anxious thoughts by imagining Aethelred dying painfully in a pool of his own blood. It helped a bit.

He almost didn't notice when the man himself starting speaking. “I demand to see my wife,” he was saying. “To ensure that the Lady Aethelflaed has not been harmed.” _And what if she has?_ He wished to say. What would Aethelred do – fight them for the privilege of being able to harm her himself? Erik could have spat at the man, but he restrained himself.

Siegfried had made a small gesture and now two of his own men came out with Aethelflaed held tightly between them. Erik could not quell the ache of need that arose when he saw her, thin and tired in the noon sun. He wished she had not been paraded out into the courtyard like a prize mare for all men to gaze at, but it had not been his order. He wished he could have her beneath him again, all to himself, away from the fear and tension of this place. Was she thinking of him too, remembering the feeling of their bodies sliding against each other? Her face was inscrutable as she gazed out of the men, and she did not turn her eyes to Erik's. He looked away with a flush of shame.

Aethelred was approaching her now, speaking with her so quietly that Erik could not make out the words. He searched Aethelflaed's face, but she was composed and unmoved as she spoke to the man – Erik could say not _her husband_ , not even to himself. After several moments, Aethelred turned and made to offer his price.

“Mercia is not a wealthy land.” His voice sounded distant to Erik, as if it were coming from the end of a long corridor. “I can only afford so much. If your price is unreasonable, then you can keep her.” Erik burned.

“Name it.” Siegfried said, his low voice as commanding as ever.

“One hundred pounds of silver. My lands can afford no more.”

The moment stretched. Erik assumed the men around him were shuffling, uncomfortable with the awkwardly low offer, but he only felt rage. He wouldn't have given this man Aethelflaed for any price, that was not what rose his anger. It was the knowledge that Aethelflaed had been given to him – _given_ , for a bride price and a song. Aethelred's marriage to her had been sanctioned by her father and the church, and with it he had secured wealth, and lands, and political power. He had beaten her, raped her, and caused her unknowable grief, and yet his right to her would be protected by all the power of Alfred and Wessex. And he could offer no more than one hundred pounds of silver to keep her.

Erik could have killed the man there and then.

“Weland?” Siegfried was saying, and Erik realized he was lost and confused. _What was happening?_ “Where is Weland? I do not see him!” Weland was Siegfried's giant, a man of towering strength and quiet demeanor who Siegfried often called on to bully and frighten his opponents. Erik saw what Siegfried planned easily, and he felt his stomach lurch with anticipation and excitement. He could unleash his anger, after all. He held up a hand to his brother and spoke for the first time in several minutes.

“Weland won't be needed.” Siegfried looked at him then with incredulity. He thought Erik was trying to defend Aethelred. He laughed openly at his brother's expression. Then he turned and punched Aethelred in the face with all the strength he could muster. Aethelred fell like a sack of meal.

There was a fluster of outrage from the envoy's party, probably from the man who had slunk close to Aethelred since they'd arrived, whispering odiously in his ear. But Erik only had eyes for Aethelflaed in that moment. Her face was serene, and unfazed, as her husband groaned wordlessly on the ground.

Aethelflaed was not permitted to attend the negotiation session. She was not sure if she was frustrated or relieved at the fact. She did not want to spend any more time than she had to in the company of her husband, nor did she want to hear herself talked about and bargained over like an object. But she wondered what they said of her, and what fate Siegfried threatened for her if the ransom was not paid. She wondered what Erik said as they spoke of her in the hall. Did his thoughts weave around a plan for their escape? Or did they flounder in fear, like Aethelflaed's? Or did he try not to think of her at all?

They had returned from the hill so late that the sun's color could be seen touching the Eastern horizon. They had tried to stretch the night as long as possible, not knowing when they would be able to be so free with each other again. They had even made love again, a third time, quickly and desperately, before entering the fortress. In a small stretch of dark trees along the path to the gates, Erik had held her against a low stone wall, his strong arms fixing her legs around his hips. They had muffled their cries into each other's shoulders as he had plowed her there. She was sore now with the strain of the night, but she did not mind. She did not know when she would feel him inside of her again. _IF she would feel him again_. She tried to force her mind to abandon the thought, even as it made her sick with fear.

Audr had arrived to the chamber a few hours later, her eyes wide and curious but her voice calm and reserved. Aethelflaed had not slept, despite the exhaustion of the long night. She had turned fitfully in the cot and failed to find her peace.

“The envoys will arrive today,” Audr had said when she arrived. “A scout came with the news just a moment ago.” Aethelflaed had sighed and grimaced, trying to smile but feeling nothing but fear at the news. Audr could restrain herself no longer.

“ _What happened?_ ” She asked, desperately. “I thought you were going to flee with the Lord Erik!” She whispered, knowing the delicate nature of her words.

“No.” Aethelflaed said. “I wish we could have.” And she laughed at Audr's round-eyed surprise.

“Then you are lovers? You and Lord Erik?”

“I --- yes.” She admitted. “Yes, you were right. He cares for me, and I for him. We have...turned towards each other.” She could not help but feel the simple joy of speaking about love with a trusted friend. Even in the face of all the fear that surrounded her. “But you must not tell anyone, Audr! It is dreadfully important that no one else know.”

“Never, I would never tell.” And the girl made a strange motion that Aethelflaed took for an oath. “So you will run away together? You and the Lord?” Audr was so excited for her, and so gleefully hopeful. She could not help but feel her heart ease a bit.

“If we can.”

“I will help.” Audr swore again. “I will help you however I can. But...” she stopped, almost sheepish, then rushed ahead with her words. “You must take me with you! Please! I can serve you as a maid, and cook and clean. Lord Erik knows I am trustworthy!” Her voice held a note of desperation.

“Audr, it will be very dangerous. I would not put you at risk.”

“Please, lady. It will be worth the risk to stay with you. And it will be an adventure, don't you think?” Audr dwelt now in the dream, the same dream that had bound Erik and Aethelflaed the night before. Aethelflaed could not bear to take it from her.

“Of course you can come, Audr. But if we flee, we shall not be a Lord and a Princess anymore. We will just be Erik and Aethelflaed. And you will come as a friend, not a servant.” Audr beamed at her then, and Aethelflaed prayed desperately to God that it should be so. She even sent a prayer to Erik's Gods as well, just for good measure.

Now she waited listlessly, as men discussed her fate, and she prayed that all of it would be in vain – for her and Erik would flee together before the ransom ever arrived... _and then_? Would they live out their days on the run? Settle in some far flung land? Lose their lives on the wild open sea? She still did not understanding the sense of fate that nagged her, allowing her to taste it but not know it truly. She wished she knew what the Lord was trying to tell her, and wondered with a jolt of guilt and a quick motion to cross herself – whether it was not her own God who spoke to her now, but the old Gods of her lover. Is that why she could not understand their message?

She closed her eyes, trying to sense the feeling again. She remembered how she had envisioned herself as Erik's wife on the shores of Iceland and then felt the vision fade. She had known it to be a false vision then, and she tried the same trick now. First she was a Viking lady beside her man on their ship, living out their days as voyagers in the wind and sun. Then a simple lady in the North, her head covered and her clothes tattered to conceal her identity, her home a cottage, her children hard seasoned by work. She saw Erik, older, worn down by the trial of their love, trying to hold onto the joy and the need he once felt for her as his belly grew hungry and his sword arm weak. The visions passed before her, carefully and clearly wrought, bringing flashes of pleasure and grief. And all of them faded, one by one, like smoke dissipating in the air.

Then a vision came unbidden, as confusing as it was unexpected. She had seen her old home, the hall in Mercia where she had lived in fear and misery with Aethelred. She tried not think of that hall, for all its comfort and embellished beauty, for the image of it made her feel hollow and weak with dread. There had been no comfort for in her in that home. But the image bloomed in front of her now, searing itself behind her eyes. She saw herself in that hall as a proud and fierce lady, standing tall without fear.

Aethelflaed opened her eyes with shock, but even then the vision did not fade. It stayed somewhere behind her eyes, in the knowing mind of her heart. She stumbled over it, trying to understand its meaning – would she return to Mercia? Did her destiny lie not with Erik but with Aethelred? She reeled, as her body rebelled against the thought, roiling with nausea and a trembling resistance. _You will not go back to Aethelred_. Erik had said that, and she had felt the truth of it in her bones. Were the Gods fooling them? Did they stumble now towards a deadly fate?

Aethelflaed struggled to find her footing, dread chasing hope within her heart. And that's when he came for her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: marital abuse, threat of rape

Erik was relieved that the negotiations were over. It had taken all his will to stay steadfast and discrete throughout the endless back-and-forth, the threats and jests, all of them at Aethelflaed's expense. By the end of it, he felt the need to wash, but drowned the feeling in fresh ale instead. He craved to see her, but feared he could not risk it now, with Aethelred and Alfred's men so close. He could not risk them suspecting anything, and knew that Aethelflaed would feel the same way.

But then he looked up from his platter and cup in a moment of calm and realized that Aethelred and Aldhelm, his horse-faced assistant, were missing from the hall. All of his tempered resolve left him in a breath. He was not drunk, but the ale had gone to his head, and he tried not to stagger as he wound his way among the full tables of the room. Men drank and ate with relish, and the mood was high as they celebrated the negotiation of their prize. They would all have silver soon, or so they thought. All Erik could think was that he should have let Weland punch Aethelred. Maybe then the man would still be out cold and put to bed with the pigs.

His suspicions were correct, he saw, as he rounded the corner of the corridor to Aethelflaed's hall to see Aldhelm standing stiffly amid his own guard. He strode confidently past the man, ignoring his muffled protest, and entered the chamber. Aethelflaed was seated demurely, and Aethelred stood, his body looming down over her. He looked up with surprise as Erik entered.

“Can I help you?” Aethelred asked defiantly. He was a pretty man, Erik had to admit. He was certainly prettier than Erik, with his red gold curls and his neatly trimmed beard. But his pompous sneer seemed to mar his handsome face, the bruise from Erik's fist bloomed over his left eye.

“I am in charge of the Lady Aethelflaed. You did not ask my permission to enter this chamber.”

“She is _my wife_ , and your permission is not required, Dane.” What would he say, Erik wondered, if he knew that _his wife_ had begged for him to claim her, had given her body to him freely and cried in pleasure at his touch. Perhaps Erik was a brute, after all. He would have killed Aethelred at that very moment to prove his love.

Instead, he simply said, “I am not a Dane. I am Norse.” Aethelred blinked. “You are in my brother's hall, and it is our word that matters here, not your own. You will leave.” He was impressed by the ease and even temper of his voice.

“Lord.” It was Aethelflaed who spoke now, and she addressed Erik with her eyes down, as if she feared him. It pained him to see. “I would like to speak with my husband, if you would permit it.” Erik was lost for words for a moment. He had not imagined a scenario in which Aethelflaed would have wanted to be alone with the man. He started to worry.

He gave a gruff sigh, as if frustrated with her protest. In truth, he was frustrated. “Only for a few minutes, Lady. I will be outside to escort the Lord Aethelred when you are finished.”

“Thank you, Lord.” Aethelred still fixed Erik with a sour stare, but Erik ignored him as he turned and left the chamber. Aldhelm still stood outside the door, looking grim and suspicious. Erik refused to acknowledge him, but merely stood in silence, listening to the conversation within.

“What an ugly brute.” Aethelred was saying. “He is in charge of your care?”

Aethelflaed sighed. “Yes. Lord Erik is harsh and cruel, as are all the North men. But he has not allowed any harm to come to me.” The words burned in Erik's throat and stomach. He wondered if this was how Aethelflaed felt, when they spoke of her as if she weren't there.

Aethelred did not seem to notice or take interest in Aethelflaed's assurances. “We have settled on a price for you, you'll be happy to hear. It is a high price, and they will raise a great army with it.”

“That is unfortunate, lord.” Erik could barely recognize the woman who spoke to Aethelred now. There was no spark in her voice, no energy or cleverness to her words. She played a bland and dutiful wife without thought or opinion.

“Well, we don't have a choice, do we?” His voice was harsh, with a cruel note in it now. “Do you know what they'll do to you, if we do not pay?” Erik's stomach lurched. Would he really repeat that threat now, to his wife? For what purpose? “They say they will tie you to a cart, naked and with your legs open, and they will parade you through every town the Danes call home. Men will pay to take their turn of you.” Erik felt his disgust rise again at Siegfried's threat. He didn't think Siegfried would actually take the humiliation that far, but he certainly enjoyed pretending that he would.

Aethelflaed seemed unfazed. “That does sound like something the Earl Siegfried would say.” How was it that Aethelred could be so oblivious to the cleverness of his wife? Perhaps he was not oblivious, but instead hoped to punish it out of her.

“Wessex could not bear that humiliation. Mercia could not bear that humiliation. So we will pay. And I hope you are happy when the North men slaughter us all.” Erik could barely believe his ears. Was the man blaming Aethelflaed for her own plight? For his own failure to protect her?

“Fortunately, you are well-practiced in saving yourself while your men are slaughtered by the North men.” Erik was aghast at her boldness, even as he felt pride and love for her strength. But then he heard the sound, and a small stifled cry from Aethelflaed, and he knew that Aethelred had hit her.

He had re-entered the chamber before he had even had a chance to think. Both Aethelflaed and Aethelred were standing now, and her right cheek was reddening from the strike of his back hand.

“You will leave. Now.” Erik's voice was tempered, but a menacing note bled through.

“She is MY WIFE, you interfering piece of SHIT!” Aethelred was flustered with rage.

“The Lady Aethelflaed is under my protection. You will leave this chamber now.”

Aethelred's eyes were open and wild, his face contorted in a mocking sneer. “Oh, she is under _your_ protection? So you kidnap her, hold her hostage, no doubt let your men make use of her as they want, and now you have the _gall_ to tell me how I can and cannot treat her? I will treat her as I see fit.” Aethelred took a step towards Aethelflaed, as if to prove it, but Erik moved quicker. He grabbed the front of Aethelred's tunic, balling it up in his fist. He spoke quietly, his face an inch from Aethelred's. He could smell the man's sour breath.

“You will leave this chamber and you will not look back, or I will cut off your hands one at a time in punishment for striking the Lady.” Erik turned so that he was facing the door and pushed Aethelred towards it, then stalked menacingly towards him, so that he had no choice but to turn and exit the room.

“You will pay for this. Never doubt that you will pay for this.” Aethelred spit out the words. But Erik was forcing him out of the chamber with the threat of his body, and now the man motioned to Aldhelm and spun down the corridor in a fit of petulant rage. Erik watched them both until they turned the corner and were gone. Then he swung around, closing the door behind him, and crossed the chamber to Aethelflaed.

She sat on the cot now, staring listlessly away from him, and she didn't look up when he knelt in front of her and spoke.

“Aethelflaed, my love, are you alright?” The words came easily to his tongue, _my love_. _I am yours now_ , she had said. Now she looked very far away from him. He didn't dare reach out and touch her.

“I wish you had not done that, Erik.” She looked at him when she said it, and his heart lurched with fear.

“But, I --” he spluttered. “I could not let him hurt you. You must know that.” _You are mine to protect now_. But he didn't say those words. She was angry with him, he knew it.

“Do you think that's the worst thing I've endured from Aethelred? Do you think I have no strength to meet him? That I cannot make my own choices? I asked you to let us speak without interference.”

Erik stood up, reeling from her anger. “Aethelflaed, I'm sorry. I did not know--”

“You did not think.” Her anger had softened, and he saw the fear that fueled it. “And I fear that you have doomed us.” She sighed. “Aethelred has always been a jealous man, even with no reason. You have given him a reason, Erik. He will suspect an affair. In fact, I'm certain that he already does.”

“And what does it matter?” Erik was passionate now. He would not let Aethelred scare her anymore. “You will not go back to him, we have sworn it. Let him think what he wants. It makes no difference.”

“And if he complains to Siegfried?” Her eyes were desperate and pleading as she spoke. “What if he says that I am worthless, that I have been debauched and that he won't pay?”

“I thought you didn't want the ransom paid anyway?” He tried to smile in the face of her intensity, but found it hard.

“But Siegfried must still think that the ransom is coming!” She pressed. “If Aethelred reneges on the deal...” She didn't, or couldn't, finish the thought.

“Your father will still pay. He will still offer to pay, even if Aethelred will not.”

“And if he doesn't?”

“Then he doesn't, and we will be free!”

“ _Or we will be killed._ ” She stared at him as she said it, letting the heaviness of the words hit him fully.

“By who?” He looked at her, and could guess her fears. “Siegfried would not harm me, not even for this.”

“How can you be so sure?! You think he will not care if he finds out you have ruined his plans? Destroyed his prize? Thrown your loyalty away for a woman? You really think he would not punish us both for that?”

Erik was silent. In truth, he did not know. He had rested in the safety's of his brother's love for as long as he could remember. But the distance had been growing slowly between them, and the world had changed. His world had changed. He could not say what his brother would do.

Aethelflaed spoke again. “We must have a plan, Erik. A good plan. I fear we will need it sooner than we know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Act Three begins. The pace picks up quickly from here. I will post more chapters soon. In the meantime, leave a comment to let me know what you think! Comments make me happy :)


	21. Chapter 21

Erik had left, in a mild daze, reeling slightly from Aethelflaed's anger. _He needs to find his head_ , she thought desperately as he left. He squeezed her hands before he turned to go, but they did not kiss.

When the knock came soon after, Aethelflaed thought he might have returned. But it was Uhtred who Dagfinn led into the chamber. She was pleased to see the dark-haired warrior and could not hide it. She embraced him, swiftly and tightly before greeting him.

“Lord Uhtred! I am pleased to see you.” He was surprised at her greeting. It was not proper, she supposed. But she was hardly a proper lady anymore.

“Lady Aethelflaed. The pleasure is all mine.” Dagfinn still stood uncomfortably in the corner, and Aethelflaed gave him a short nod.

“You may leave us, Dagfinn. Thank you.” Dagfinn shuffled awkwardly, then nodded and exited the room. Uhtred looked at her warily.

“You command Erik's men?” He asked, a slight jest in his tone.

“It is my chamber.” She replied stiffly.

“Of course, lady.” Uhtred sighed deeply, and smiled at her gently. “Your father sends his love and well wishes.”

“He'll be sleeping at the alter, I'm sure. Does my lady mother suffer greatly?”

“She will be happy to learn that you are well and unharmed. We have settled on a price for your freedom.”

“So I have heard.” Uhtred looked at her questioningly. “Aethelred came and visited me. He is unhappy with the arrangement.”

“It is a high price,” Uhtred agreed. “But your father will pay.”

Aethelflaed looked at Uhtred warily, uncertainty tight in her belly.

“Lord Uhtred,” she spoke quietly now, her voice low and measured. “Has...Erik spoken to you?” He looked up at her sharply, and she saw the question in his eyes.

“No. Not since we arrived. He didn't speak much throughout the negotiations.”

Aethelflaed sighed. “I fear he has lost his head. He cannot contain his anger at Aethelred.”

Uhtred was looking at her fiercely now, and she felt the burning suspicion of his eyes on her.

“I had noticed, Lady. Why should Lord Aethelred concern Erik?”

“I think you already know, Uhtred.” She gave a small smile and surged towards the truth. “I think you've already guessed that Erik and I are lovers.”

Uhtred laughed softly, but his face showed no humor. “I had my suspicions.” They stared at each other for a long moment across the darkness. “Lady.” He was very serious now, and she felt the blow of his words starting to swing down towards her. “You must know...such an affair...it cannot last. It will not last.”

She looked away, drawing in her face and her fear. “We plan to flee, Uhtred. To escape together.” He gave a soft, exasperated sigh.

“And where will you go?” Aethelflaed saw a flash of the vision she had received earlier. _Mercia_. But she said nothing. “You will know no peace together, Lady. It is impossible.”

“Uhtred.” She was serious and stately now, and she saw him rustle at her change in tone. “I do not need your chastisement. I do not need your dire warnings. I need your help.”

His face was very tense and taut in the low light. “Lady --”

She continued, ignoring his interruption. “Erik is clever, but he fears the wrath of his Gods. Of your Gods. It stalls him to action. And I fear he underestimates the risk that Siegfried poses.”

Uhtred snorted, venting his stuck frustration. “Siegfried will never let you go. He will never let you rest if Erik betrays him.”

“I know. I know it. But I am powerless here. I cannot arrange a ship, or raise the men to crew it. We cannot do it alone, Uhtred. Will you help us? Please.”

She did not mention the oath that Uhtred had sworn to her, nor did she appeal to his duty to save Wessex the slaughter that her ransom would buy. She appealed to him only as a friend, and prayed that the bond would hold.

“Lady, can you trust him?” Uhtred's expression was fierce and his hands clasped hers tightly. “Is this what you truly want?”

“We are bound, Uhtred. Erik and I. It is done. I will leave here with Erik or I will not leave at all.”

Uhtred leaned back with a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“Then I suppose I have no choice.” He smiled ruefully at her. “You are your father's daughter, you know that.” She felt a rush of love for the man, and sent a prayer of gratitude into the silence of the air. “Tell me what I must do, Aethelflaed.”

The rush lights at the docks burned hotly in Erik's vision. His head and his heart still spun from the tension with Aethelred, and then the small fight with Aethelflaed. He carried the weight of her chastisement, and the desire to fixtheir falling out, as he made his way down to the water. The threads of a plan had been weaving together in his mind. He still did not know if it was all folly, but it was all he could do to try.

The ships bustled together at the wharf like a herd of nervous cattle. The energy in the fortress and surrounding camps was high and boisterous – men were celebrating the successful conclusion of the negotiations, and the revelries had spilled over as always into the usual brawling and braying. Erik knew the men's heads would be loose, their attention less focused. But he never doubted that wary eyes still watched him in the night.

Erik was searching for a man by the name of Gunnar, a small and wiry dark-haired Norseman whom Erik had known for almost ten years. Gunnar had been on the first crew he had joined, both of them rowing and fighting and plundering under the command of Siegfried. They had been battle brothers then. But Gunnar had grown weary of Siegfried's quick turning temper and taste for cruelty. He manned a small cargo ship now, and still slid occasionally in and out of the brothers' waters, bringing news and trading necessities such as salt and ore. He had arrived three days ago, and he and Erik had caught up over mugs of mead and enjoyed the simple companionship of each other's company. But since then the world had changed – Erik's world had changed. And now he came to Gunnar with a heavy need in his heart.

He found the man near the end of the docks, sober and solitary, as Erik had expected. Gunnar was a tempered, self-constrained man who had lost his taste for the rough ragged fun of his compatriots long ago. He smoked from a small clay pipe as he looked out at the cool dark water, and he knew Erik was coming without turning to greet him.

“Shouldn't ye be enjoying the festivities, Lord Erik?”

Erik clapped him roughly across the shoulder. “Since when have I been your Lord, Gunnar? If I remember correctly, the proper title would be 'Arseling'.” Gunnar shot him a shifty grin, revealing missing teeth in a weathered face.

“Then shouldn't ye be tugging ropes and fighting over women with the other men in the hall, Arseling?”

Erik felt his face fall at the jest. Perhaps he wasn't above fighting over women after all. Gunnar would think him a fool, he knew. But there was no one else he could ask. He gave a weary sigh.

“Ah, I think I understand now.” Gunnar laughed dryly. “Ye need my help fer something, don't ye? And here I thought ye just enjoyed the pleasure of my company.”

“Always, Gunnar. I always enjoy your company.” Erik smiled grimly. “But I do need your help, yes.”

“Spit it out, Arseling.” Erik was unfazed by Gunnar's rough tone. It was the way of the man.

“I have need of a ship. Something small and quick, easy to maneuver with a tight crew.”

“My ship.” It was not a question.

“If you consent, Gunnar. Yes. I would like it to be your ship.”

Gunnar fixed him with a beady glare. “And may I ask what it is ye need my ship for?”

“I will need to leave here, soon. I am still not sure when. I will have....precious cargo with me. And I will need to be discrete.”

“Siegfried --”

“Does not know. Will not know.” Erik felt the heaviness of the betrayal on his heart at that moment.

“So I see now ye are asking me to risk my life as well as my ship, Arseling. Curse the day I called ye my friend.”

“I will pay you handsomely, friend.” Erik smiled wanly. “I have a fair horde of wealth. You shall share in it, I swear.”

“And of course, ye will have more wealth from the ransom of the Princess, no doubt. Ye'll be a rich man, Lord Erik.” Erik knew that Gunnar was mocking him. The man was whip smart, and likely already had his suspicions about the precious cargo Erik sought to smuggle away. Erik said nothing, but looked at the man steadily.

“I see.” Gunnar said finally, and looked away. “And is the lady willing? Or are you a brigand and a woman-thief now?”

“She is willing, Gunnar. We are....”

“Ah shut up.” The man interrupted. “I don't need to hear ye croon about yer love. I already feel a little sick from yer brother's shite ale.” Erik laughed shakily.

“So you will do it? You will help?”

“Aye, I'll help.” The man spat sullenly, but then gave Erik a reedy smile. “If ye told me I'd be risking my life to help the weasel-shit Erik Thurgilson plow a field, I'd --”

“The channel will be blocked.” Erik interrupted, ignoring his mockery. “I will need to devise a plan to clear the vessel downstream.”

Gunnar laughed. “No, ye won't.”

Erik blinked at him. “The vessel is there now, you can see it even in the darkness. It is unpassable.”

“Gods, ye are a stupid man. And ye think I tell yer brother every time I want to come and go from this place? Ye know I haven't served that man in years.”

“You have another way?”

Gunnar looked into the distance, as if tracing a far off thought. “My boat is good boat, Erik. Her keel is steady but it's not too deep. I've plowed a way through the marshes, to reach the downstream delta. I can find it even in the dark.”

Erik's heart leapt. _This might truly work._ “Gunnar, you are beloved by the Gods! And beloved by me.” He clasped the man's hand passionately and looked at him with earnest gratitude.

“She's a good boat, Erik.” Gunnar's beady stare was back. “And if she's wrecked for ye, I'll be taking all yer hoarde. And yer princess, too.”

Erik only laughed, his heart wild with hope.

Uhtred found Erik the next day, as the men of Alfred's envoy gathered their gear to begin the long march back to their horses. Erik had offered to lead the men back himself, but Siegfried had gestured to Haesten instead, and Erik had felt his brother's wary stare like a cold punch in the gut. _Perhaps Siegfried_ _did no longer trust him_.But now Siegfried had vanished, and Erik had left the central yard to relieve himself, and Uhtred had found him in the abandoned spit of dirt behind the kitchens.

Uhtred fixed Erik was a grim stare as he approached.

“Uhtred,” he said in greeting, quietly, warmly, earnestly. Uhtred cracked a small smile and the two men clasped arms in friendship. There had always been respect between the two of them, if little else. Erik wondered now what the man suspected, or knew. He was smarter than he looked.

Uhtred looked around warily as he spoke. “I have met with the Lady Aethelflaed.” Erik felt his pulse quicken. Had she told him? Did she trust the man so much? “I am glad that she is well.”

“I have done my best to see that she is cared for.” Erik knew he stood stiffly now, his face a tight mask.

Uhtred laughed shortly. “It sounds like you've a lot more than that.” Erik's blood ran cold.

“What has she told you?”

“All. She has told me all.” Erik sighed, releasing a stream of breath. There was no going back now. He had no choice but to trust the man, or kill him. “Not that she truly needed to. You have not been concealing your anger for Aethelred very well.”

“The man is a shit stain.” Erik replied bitterly.

“Indeed.” Uhtred spoke with a quiet, restrained amusement and sharp eyes. That was the way of this man. There was a quiet moment, an awkward pause, as if Uhtred were waiting for Erik to speak. He supposed he had little choice.

“So then you know of our plan?”

“What plan? It did not sound like you have much of plan at all, to me. Aethelflaed begged for my help. She fears you two will be lost.” Erik felt the chastisement like a slap. Aethelflaed's frustration with him had burned in his gut all night, and now Uhtred raised it again.

“And you agreed? To help?” Erik loosed the words more roughly than he intended. He swallowed his mild jealousy for the man, and his sour feeling that Aethelflaed trusted him so greatly. In truth, they did need all the help they could get.

“I did. I am sworn to the Lady Aethelflaed, and she is my friend. She told me to find you.” Erik eased a bit.

“Thank you, Uhtred, truly.” Uhtred just continued to peruse him with cautious eyes. “I have secured a ship, a cargo vessel captained by a trusted friend. He can navigate the marshes so we need not clear the channel.”

“That is good news. And you have a crew?”

“Gunnar has two men, and my man Dagfinn will accompany us as well. But that may not be enough to oar the vessel if we need to flee with speed.”

“You can call no more men to your service?” Uhtred seemed surprised, and Erik suppressed the flush of shame that came with his words.

“The men have always served Siegfried, or Siegfried and I together. I have never had a reason...to hold them to my own will against his. There are many men who are loyal to me but who would not risk disloyalty to my brother.”

“It is a hard position to be in.”

“It is.” There was a long silence, and Erik got the sense that Uhtred was thinking, and deciding.

“I will bring men, by foot. We will cause a diversion at the Northwest side of the fortress and then meet you at the docks. You must bring the Lady safely and without notice to the ship. We will help crew your vessel through the marshes.”

Erik felt the breath rise in his chest. “Uhtred..you would truly do this? For us?”

Uhtred speared him with a sharp stare. “I do it for the Lady Aethelflaed, and for the wealth and lives of Wessex.”

“Of course. But I thank you, anyway.”

Uhtred ignored him. “I will have to deliver news of the negotiations to Alfred and rest my men and horses before we can return. It will two weeks, I'd say.”

 _Two weeks_. It seemed like a dangerously long time, and yet it was the only choice they had.

“I will send a message if I can,” Uhtred continued. “And if I can't, you must be ready. Look for the diversion, and then run for your lives.”

“We will, Uhtred. We will.”

And so it was done.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sex

_So the plan was in motion_. Aethelflaed sighed with a desperate sense of relief. Erik started at her across the chamber, his face flushed and his eyes slightly anxious.

“And the envoys?” She asked.

“There are gone. Returned to Wintancester to give news of the negotiations to your father.”

“Thank you, Erik.” And she hoped the look in her eyes expressed the love and gratitude she felt in that moment. She had been angry with him, flustered with his lack of self control around Aethelred and the strange mix of fear and carelessness that had seemed to paralyze him. But he appeared clearer now, stronger and resilient, and Aethelflaed felt a relaxed hope kindle in her gut.

“I am sorry, Aethelflaed.” He still stood away from her, as if wary to approach. “I know I gave you cause to doubt me. I --”

“Erik,” she heard the tender need in her own voice. “I am sorry, too. I was afraid, and...I doubted. But I do have faith in you. I trust you.” And they moved towards each other then and clasped their hands together firmly. Erik raised one hand to her face and stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes in pleasure at the touch.

“Gunnar is a good man,” he was saying. “We can trust him. He will not betray us. And Uhtred--” Aethelflaed heard the slight question in his voice and spoke firmly.

“We can trust him, Erik. I trust him with my life.”

“Even if he is your father's man?”

She smiled. “He is sworn to me as well. And he has never been able to resist going against my father's wishes if he thinks the cause is worthy. I promise – he will not let us down.”

And the surge of hope that rose between them then was too great to resist any longer. They kissed fervently, as if stitching closed the wound their fears had wrought.

They had not been free with each other since the night on the hill. Erik wished for the welcome warmth of her body, the comfort of their shared love, and he knew that she did as well. But he could not bring himself to have her in the musty chamber that was her prison, the chamber where Haesten had tried to rape her. He knew she wished to leave the fortress again, to spend another night together clean and washed beneath the sky. But the air was cooling quickly, and frost would soon fur along the sedges and marsh grasses. And it was too great of a risk to smuggle her out of the fortress now.

The atmosphere of the camp was ripe with dying. The oncoming winter prompted the slaughter and smoking of most of the animals on site, and the smell of blood filled the air. The stones of the small sacrificial altars that ringed the camp were splattered and smeared with red, and the ash of ritual fires clung to the faces and clothes of the warriors. The men's games had become bloodier, and the night before Siegfried had let two bitch hounds tear each other apart in yard. The gore of it still struggled to soak into the hard packed earth.

Haesten had returned swiftly from his errand as guide to the envoys. Now he fixed Erik with a low dark stare whenever the men shared space and seemed to lurk at the edge of the hall whenever Erik and Siegfried discussed anything together. Erik hoped to ease his brother's watchful eyes by keeping away from Aethelflaed's chambers as much as possible. He had even taken Audr to his own room one evening in view of Siegfried, only to give her a horn of ale and send her out with a message of regard and regret for Aethelflaed. The girl knew their secret now, and as with Uhtred, Erik had no choice but to trust her with it.

For all of Erik's effort, Siegfried still kept a distrustful distance from him, as though inspecting him from afar for any small sign of betrayal. More than a week still stretched until the day that Uhtred had said he would come, and in mild desperation, Erik planned a last ditch attempt to throw Siegfried off his trail.

“I am restless, brother,” he sighed one morning, over a bowl of oats in cold light of the hall. “My men are restless.”

“All the men are restless,” Siegfried replied roughly.  
“Indeed. I think I shall take a ship upriver and see what vessels have yet to pay the Beamfleot tariff.”

Siegfried chuckled. “Winter is coming. There will be fewer ships traveling at this time. The Christians busy themselves with feasting.”

“All the better time to take them off guard, and exercise my men before the winter closes in. _Windsong_ whines at me for use.” _Windsong_ was the name of Erik's own ship, second only in beauty to _Wavetamer_. It would be a great loss to leave it. He had lost it once already, in the Battle for London, and had only recovered it from the Saxons' grasp in the raid that had won Aethelflaed. He would have to leave it behind again, taking only his weapons and his woman when they fled. He would not mind feeling it beneath his feet one last time.

“Then see what you can find trawling the upper Thames. I shall look forward to receiving my share.” Siegfried smiled at him openly and clapped him on the back. He felt the flare of warm trust that had always burned between them with an ache of gratitude and pain. It was not a small thing for him to betray his brother. It was not a small thing to try to trick him now. But he was grateful that the ruse seemed to work.

Erik left the following day, with twelve other warriors aboard his lithe ship. Some of the men had been on Erik's crew for years, and he trusted them as blood brothers. Some he trusted less, and so he kept his guard up as they rowed upriver, against the current, heading for the ports and small trading depots in the stretch between Beamfleot and London. He had left his most trusted sworn men in Aethelflaed's guard with Dagfinn, but he worried for her still. Haesten had enough men to overpower his guards if he wished. He could only hope that the ruse would be worth it, and his brother would drop his suspicions. If Siegfried took Aethelflaed out of Erik's care now, they would be doomed.

He had risked visiting her chamber the night before the raid. She had looked so thin and pale in the low light. It had been several days since she had been able to go outside and breathe fresh air. But she had been glad to see him, even as he murmured his regrets to her.

“I must leave, Aethelflaed. Just for a few days.” Her eyes were clear and hard as she looked at him, even as her face revealed her worry.

“An errand for Siegfried?”

“Of a sort. You were right, my love, I fear that Siegfried suspects us. I hope to throw him off my trail by taking my men upstream on a raid.” She stiffened in his arms.

“So you go to kill Saxons.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, and smoothed the skin of her face with his hand. “Or maybe we will find no one and nothing, and I will come back to you with my hands clean and Siegfried's mind eased.”

Aethelflaed gave a wry smile. “Do not lie. You wish to kill Saxons.”

“As your man Uhtred wishes to kill Danes.” He could not help the retort, and feared that they would quarrel. It was not what he intended. He sighed at her hard look. “I do not go for battle. A small raid, that is all, to swell my horde. We will be grateful for it, once we are adrift from here.”

Aethelflaed sighed and relaxed a bit. She did not want to quarrel either. “And you will come back safely?”

“It is just a small raid. There is little risk. Dagfinn will remain with you here, and Haesten knows he will die if he harms you.”

“And Siegfried?”

“Is simply happy that I am going viking again. All will be well.” But perhaps they both felt the twitch of the spinners' threads on their shoulders that night, the turning of fate that charged the moment with need.

They had kissed, softly at first. It might have been little more than a tender goodbye. But then the ache rose within them both, and Aethelflaed was writhing and rocking against him as he pressed her to the wall. And soon Aethelflaed's shift was pulled around her hips, and her hand was on the waist of his trues. And so they had loved, quickly and fiercely, against the cold stone wall of that dark little chamber. He would have regretted it, using her in that way and in that place, but her eyes had swum with need at his touch, and he had kissed her flushed face for long moments after he had lost himself within her. He could still see her heavy lidded eyes loose with pleasure as he steered _Windsong_ up the Thames.

And so it was that Erik was betrayed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

Siegfried and Haesten came to Aethelflaed's chamber the next day. She did not think they killed Erik's men, but when the wide door swung open, she saw no sign of Dagfinn or the other hard-faced Norseman she had grown to recognize. Instead, a row of unfamiliar faces leered at her, twice as many guards as Erik had left on her room. They would have been overpowered, no doubt.

She felt the cold dread rise in her belly when Siegfried prowled into the small hall, his eyes dark and savage in the low light. But she could not say she was surprised. She had wished and fervently prayed for Erik's assurances to be true. But now it was clear. They had both been fools.

“Princess.” Siegfried growled as he approached. “It's good to see you. My brother keeps you well guarded.”

“Clearly not well guarded enough.” Siegfried narrowed his eyes at her. Behind him, Haesten's face shown gleefully with triumph.

“But you are my hostage too. He has been guarding you on my account. Now I simply wish to see my prize.” Siegfried was trying to make her afraid. She would not let him see her fear, but she let the rage surge up within her. She spat out her next words.

“I will fight you. I will squirm and scream and kick and you will find no pleasure.”

“I have no desire to use you, Saxon bitch.” His voice was cold now and his eyes were fierce. “I only wish to deliver a message.”

She felt her heart fail within her chest. Was it news of Erik? Was he dead, or captured? Her mouth was suddenly very dry.

“Say it.” She was a brittle iron rod, over tempered. She hoped that Siegfried would not break her.

“You will be under the care of Haesten's men now. When my brother returns, he will have no access to this chamber. You will have no more baths or fresh clothes or walks to the damned river. You will cause no trouble or I will kill the little kitchen girl you are so fond of. Do I make myself clear?”

It was not a shock, but each word hit her like a cold, dull blow. She noticed the feeling draining out of her legs and arms, as though her body were crumbling in on itself, retreating from the fear and pain. She had felt that before, when she was taken on the beach, and before that, when she had learned what kind of man Aethelred truly was. It was the feeling of pure powerlessness. She tried to not let it consume her now.

“Yes, Lord.” The words were more curse than surrender. She looked at him fiercely, one final spur in her heel. “Erik --”

But Siegfried crossed the distance between them in one step and held his hand to her throat, crushing the words and the breath from her in a moment.

“Erik,” he finished for her. “is done with you. He has used you, and now he has no more use for you. And when the silver comes, we will send you back to your pig's ass of a husband, and we will never think of you again.”

He released her with a push and she fell to her knees on the floor with a gasp and groan. She did not look up at him as he turned and left. She did not look up to meet Haesten's lascivious gaze. She did not look up when the door swung closed and left her, alone. She tried to weep, she wanted to, but the tears felt stuck in her throat, the bruise of Siegfried's rough hand still pressing on her breath. _So they were lost_.

Erik discovered the betrayal soon enough. The raid had been successful, and the men had returned in good spirits. Two merchants vessels bearing grain and finely tanned hides had been boarded. There had been blood, but not slaughter, and the mail and weapons of the warrior ship guards who had been killed had served as welcome plunder for the men. Erik had even found a small sack of silver to add to his own horde. He left the merchants with a share of their stocks as well as their lives, and felt no shame as they drifted downstream, back to Beamfleot. It was an honest raid, and with luck it would serve to ease the tension between Siegfried and himself.

He did not rush to Aethelflaed's chambers, as much as he would have liked to. He made the rounds, and drank mead with his crew, toasting to their success. He watched Haesten in the corner of the hall, and questioned the sly smile that played around the man's lips. He thought of kissing Aethelflaed in the darkness, and the press of her soft body against his. He presented Siegfried with the finest hide, a thick, well tanned bull's skin that was well suited for armor. His brother had smiled and drank with him and had shown no hint of the treachery he hid.

It was only when he had seen Dagfinn across the hall, their eyes locking between the bustle of men and servants, that he had realized the truth. Dagfinn's face told him all he needed to know. And so he had soon discovered that Haesten's men now filled the corridor around Aethelflaed's chamber and they barred his way as he sought to pass. And he could do nothing – he could not yell her name or fight them or break his way through the door. He could only turn and walk away, his blood boiling, his skin a brittle shell of rage.

“You have shamed me, Siegfried.” Erik's voice was low but wrenched with anger as he spoke to his brother in a corner of the hall. He had pulled Siegfried away from the table to speak privately, and now his brother sipped lazily from his ale horn and looked around casually, as if unfazed by Erik's rage.

“I don't know what you mean, Erik.”

“You have put in the Princess in the care of Haesten's men! You have undermined my authority.”

“Well.” Siegfried took another slow sip from his horn. “Haesten did point out that he has a larger stake in the ransom than you. On account of the weregeld you owe him.” Siegfried was playing stupid. It did nothing to calm Erik's rage.

“You have made a fool of me!” He still spoke quietly, but the tension rose inexorably between the two men.

“What I have done,” Siegfried voice was cold now. “Is protect you. You have grown too fond of her. I can see it, Haesten can see it, even her daft fool of husband can see it, I'm sure!” Siegfried laughed. “The men will see it too. They will question where your loyalty lies.”

“They will question me when they see that my own brother does not trust me to keep charge of a hostage!”

Siegfried was risen in anger now, and his gaze was cold and savage. “Your affair with the princess is over. It is her silver we want, not her ass. You were the one you told me that.”

“Haesten will rape her. He has already tried.” He hoped the desperation in his voice was not clear.

“And what is it that you call it? What you do to the Princess?”

Erik reeled back. “I do not rape her. She is...not unwilling.”

Siegfried started to laugh then, a low and menacing sound. He gripped Erik's face, a gesture of rough compassion in his own strange way. “Then I see I have been doubly wise, brother. She is using you! Clever bitch. When all this is over, you will thank me for thinking with my head while you were thinking with your cock.”

Siegfried turned to go. He was finished with the conversation, and with Erik.

“Aethelflaed --” he could not help gasping out her name. “She will not understand --”

Siegfried turned and grinned then, and Erik felt his stomach drop. “Oh, she already knows. I told her myself.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her that you had no more use for her. She took it well enough.” Erik could say nothing. “If you still want her when our army takes Mercia, and Wessex, maybe you can claim her then. Or maybe I'll claim her for myself.” And Siegfried laughed as he turned and walked away.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: humiliation

Aethelflaed was utterly alone now. She had no companions and received no compassion. She barely received basic care. Audr did not visit anymore, undoubtedly banned by Siegfried and Haesten, and Aethelflaed could only pray for the girl's safety. Her kinswoman still came, always silent and deep-eyed, emptying Aethelflaed's bucket and delivering food and ale once a day. There was no wash water or fresh clothes, and the candles Erik had brought her were all but burned down. She felt filthy and sick, and spent the nights shivering in her thin shift in the rapidly descending cold.

She thought of Erik, and wondered what form his thoughts took. Had he challenged his brother? Had he even returned from the raid? She had no way of knowing, and the uncertainty left her weak and reeling. In her darkest moments, she played her mind around Siegfried's words – the ones that told her that Erik did not care for her, that he had used her and would lose her for the ransom. In her darkest moments, she believed them and let herself descend into self-pity. But then she would put them aside, and take strength in the memory of his kind eyes and his gentle hands. She would remember the feeling of his strong body over hers, claiming her, needing her, and of the love-spoken words they had whispered to each other in that tender space. And she would ache with a hopeless need, even as her doubts eased and cleared.

The loneliness was maddening, but she was grateful for it too. At least Haesten had not returned to parade his power over her. She preferred the endless ache of solitude to Haesten's savage company. But she slept lightly and found herself always on edge, worrying that she would wake to find him over her in the dark, or turn to see him slinking into her chamber with his greedy, red rimmed eyes. She prayed for the protection of the Lord to keep her from harm, and hoped it was enough.

On the third day after Siegfried's visit, her stout iron-eyed maid pressed a tightly wrapped package into Aethelflaed's hand as she delivered the daily meal. Aethelflaed opened her mouth to speak, but the woman struck her with a hard warning look, and then turned and left without another word. Aethelflaed unwrapped the rag bundle to find a small wooden handled kitchen knife. It was nested in a lovingly crafted sheath. She traced the whip stitches with her fingers, so even and carefully placed in the leather, and pulled out the knife to inspect it. It was not long, but the metal was thick and stout, and it had been sharpened to a razor edge. She sheathed it again and held the blunted blade to her heart with gratitude. She could not say why, but she felt the tears hot and sudden in her throat and blinked as they fell rapidly from her face. She wept then, quietly and bitterly, for the blade, and for the need of it, and for the love of a deep-minded girl who now slept alone, unguarded.

With Audr's knife in her possession, she felt safer, even if it was a small and feeble protection. She kept the knife tied inside of her thigh with a strip of a rag and slept with the held tightly in her strong hand. And in the long and lonely hours of boredom and fear, she dreamt up a small and feeble plan.

She needed to give a message, to Erik if she could. But she knew she had no chance of seeing him unless the walls fell down around her by some act of God. She thought it would be easier to reach Audr, and have her give the message by proxy, but even Audr seemed impenetrably hard to reach. She tried, the day after receiving the knife, to speak lowly to the kitchen woman. But she did not know if the woman even spoke English, and when she had said Audr's name, the woman had glared openly at her and left the room with a slam of the door. Perhaps she was angry at Aethelflaed, for embroiling her kin in danger and mischief. Aethelflaed's hopes fell, her plan seeming to gutter out before it had even taken breath.

But then her chance came, in the form of Haesten. He was grinning as he entered her chamber, and he held a long rope in his hands. Aethelflaed felt the blood drain from her face as she stood feebly to face him.

“I thought you'd like some fresh air, Princess.” She remembered Erik, inviting her out beneath the moon-swept sky, and she cringed at this cruel mockery of his tenderness. “And the Lord Siegfried thinks it's only fair to let the men see you every now and then. Let's go for a walk.” She didn't speak as he tied her hands together in front of her, nor as he led her out and down the long corridor. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear, or let him see her humiliation. It seemed she had lived her whole adult life battered between the hands of men who wished only to humiliate her. And she still could not understand the impulse that drove them, the fevered twisting thing inside of them that wished only to see her cower and whimper. The cruelty of men seemed vast and impenetrable. The only exception was Erik.

She searched for him now, as they walked through the courtyard and passed into the hall. She was a wretched thing, she knew, barefoot in nothing but a filthy soiled shift, her hair lank and loose down her back. The men leered at her, some called to her or laughed at her. Some even lunged for her. But Haesten and two other men beat them back with friendly jests. It was all just a game to them. Her safety was immaterial.

And that is when she saw him, his eyes round and desperate across the hall. He stood near to Siegfried, at the hall's high table and he seemed unable to look away from her face, even as his brother glared at him. Aethelflaed was similarly fixed, and she did not even notice that Haesten had continued moving. She tripped at the sudden motion and fell on her face, unable to stop herself with her tied hands. The men laughed as she rose and wiped a trickle of blood from her lip with the back of her wrist. She would not cry. But it took all the strength she had to hold back the desperate tears. When she looked back to the high table, Erik was gone.

Haesten had had his fun, and the men's appetite for humiliation had been sated. Aethelflaed was led back now through the courtyard, and as she passed, she noticed a round, tan face flitting from the kitchens. Haesten had stopped to speak and jest with another warrior at the corner of the courtyard, and Aethelflaed bent her head at Audr, motioning for her to come closer. The men were in some meaningless argument now, their voices rising and roaring in the open air, and Aethelflaed dared to whisper fiercely as Audr got closer.

“I need you to bring a message to Erik.” She spoke in a quick and fluid stream. There was no time for conversation now. “I will give a signal out of the window of my chamber. It faces the kitchens, so you should see it. A flaming cloth, waved three times. If you see it, you are to tell Erik that my life is in danger and we must fight our way out.” Audr was nodding vigorously, her face tight with the effort of trying to catch all the whispered details. One of Haesten's men had noticed their conversation and was striding over to them quickly.

“But lady, what if I don't see --”

Audr was pushed back with a heavy blow and fell to the ground. She seemed unfazed by the fall, and kept her eyes locked on Aethelflaed's with an expression of desperate worry.

“Get out of here, you filthy kitchen dog.” The man barked down at Audr, and she scurried away with one searing look back. Then Haesten jerked Aethelflaed's rope again, as if remembering she was there, and she stumbled forward, her feet bruised and aching on the cold ground.

She did not know if Audr had understood her plan, if she would be able to see the signal, or take a message to Erik. As she was led back into her cold and dirty chamber and untied by Haesten's smirking man, all Aethelflaed could do was hope.


	25. Chapter 25

Erik could have killed Siegfried and Haesten both. They had conspired in Aethelflaed's humiliation, and had conspired to make Erik witness it helplessly. Erik had always known his brother to be a hard and brittle man, easy to anger and quick to cruelty. He knew that Siegfried enjoyed making people afraid, and that his greatest weapon was the threat of pain and humiliation. Perhaps Erik had turned a blind eye, choosing to see instead the parts of his brother that could be kind and funny and generous. He had excused Siegfried's madness, saying it was mostly a game. He told himself that Siegfried rarely intended to cause the harm that he threatened.

But now he faced the full blunt force of Siegfried's game, forced into a losing corner against him and Haesten, and he knew that Siegfried's cruelty was no joke. He tried not to pity himself, as he watched Aethelflaed, weak and filthy, paraded around the hall for all the men to see. It was worse for her than it was for him, and it was due to his own foolishness that she was forced to endure it at all. But he could not erase the image of her pale and hopeless face, her eyes fixed on his across the wide hall. He could not sleep for the thought of her suffering, her bare feet and thin body shivering helplessly in the night. He could not rest for the thought of the pain he would cause Siegfried and Haesten both, in revenge for their treatment of her. But there was nothing he could but rage futilely, and hope that when the moment came for Uhtred's diversion, he could fight his way to Aethelflaed.

He spent more of his time down at the docks with Gunnar. The man had little sympathy for him. “Ye've always known yer brother's a wicked man, Arseling. Ye've just chosen not to see it. Ye shoulda left him when I did, and ye'd have never gotten yerself into this mad trouble.” So Gunnar said, when Erik tried to share his misery with the ship's man on the rocking deck of his hardy vessel. But there was still some comfort in the weak commiseration, and in the knowledge of a truth-speaking friend, and Erik took his comfort where he could.

He had brought his horde down to Gunnar's ship when he returned from the raid. It was a small horde, a modest chest worth of silver and well-made trinkets that Erik had loved too much to spend or trade away. There was a fine silver brooch, crafted in the shape of a triple spiral, that he wished to give to Aethelflaed one day, when they were free and she could dress herself in fine clothes again. There was even a small pouch of gold coins that Erik had been saving and hording for close to ten years. It was all he had in the world, besides his armor and his weapons and his beloved ship. And he entrusted it now to Gunnar's care.

“So I'll take two-thirds when the journey's done, is that right?”

Erik laughed humorlessly at the man's jest. “Let's just see if we get out of here alive first, yea? Then we can consider your share.”

Erik passed his time in Dagfinn's company as well. The man was a quiet companion, more servant than friend. But there was a tight bond between them nonetheless. Erik had known Dagfinn since he was a boy. Dagfinn had been a slave then, and worked the land for Erik's father. But when Thurgil had died, Erik had freed Dagfinn and given him a share of his own small farm. But Dagfinn was a warrior too, well blooded in battle and raid since before his years as a slave. And when the village had been lost, in famine and plague, they had joined Siegfried's crew together and fought side by side. Erik guessed that they would be bonded in quiet companionship until one of them died.

And now Dagfinn would be following Erik into the wide unknown space beyond their lives in Siegfried's orbit. It was heartening to have Dagfinn beside him now, even as he roiled with doubt.

“Do you think I'm mad, Dagfinn?” He asked, as the two men drank together in the quiet darkness of Erik's chambers. Dagfinn slept on his own cot in the room now. “To be risking everything for a woman?”

Dagfinn was slow to respond, as was his usual quiet way. “She's a good woman, Lord. A rare woman, I'd say.”

“And I am a reckless, foolish man.”

“Some things are worth being reckless for, I'd say. A good wife. A family. That's not a small thing, Lord.” Dagfinn was older than Erik by ten years or so, and he held his own sort of well-seasoned wisdom. “Fate is reckless, too. Wouldn't you say?”

Erik laughed as he looked at the man with searching eyes. “I suppose so.” He took a sip of ale. “And you Dagfinn, do you want a family for yourself?”

“Maybe one day, Lord.” He answered thoughtfully. “If there is the peace for it.”

Erik thought of peace then, and of a golden woman who would be his. And he prayed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: threat of rape, graphic violence

Aethelflaed passed a day in sullen solitude before Haesten returned again. Perhaps he had been roused by her humiliation. Perhaps he had just been waiting, baiting her into a false sense of security. But when he came, she was not surprised. He swaggered with the full weight of his power and hoped to see her crushed against it. She could sense his intent the moment he entered her chamber, in the subtle stalking energy of his body, the playful menace in his eyes. It was all a game to men like Haesten.

“I'm sorry you have not had a bath, Princess.” He said, crinkling his nose at the sour smell of the chamber. “But Siegfried says you are welcome to bath in a barrel in full view of all the men.” Aethelflaed turned away, her body as rigid as a bone. She said nothing.

“You're quiet.” He grinned. “But I can make you speak if I want.” He feinted a lunge for her then, a sharp step forward and a short stop. She could not help but flinch and jump back rigidly and he laughed heartily at her distress.

“I do not want to force you, Lady!” He spoke with a mocking croon. “I only expect the same _favor_ that you gave to the Lord Erik. That's not unfair, I think.” And he hemmed in on her now. She remembered the night bucket, and how she had stopped him with it before. But the night bucket was on the other side of the room. Her knife, however, was strapped to her leg, just beneath the thin fabric of her shift.

She felt the shuddering numbness descend over her body, so that she seemed to be very far from herself. There was a low humming, like the songs of bees, in the back of her head and her vision became narrow and dim. The feeling of the fear was almost familiar by now. And in its familiarity, she felt a queer calmness. The moment slowed around her. She felt as though she knew what was to happen, as if she were following an invisible thread in the dark. She tugged the thread in her mind. And she knew then what she had to do.

She lifted her shift with shaking hands so that it rose above her knees and looked at Haesten with wide eyes. “Yes, Lord.,” she said simply. She watched his eyes grow round with surprise and excitement. He did lunge for her then, but she had braced for it, known it was coming, and in the shuffling chaos of his motion, she reached up quickly below the hem of the shift and slipped the knife, unsheathed, from its hiding spot.

It was gripped in her right hand now, but her hand was tight against the wall as Haesten pressed himself on her, his hands roving over her body and his breath hot and sour on her neck.

“Lord?” Her voice was thick with the feeble helplessness that she now knew roused him. At her word, he pulled back for a moment, eager and desperate to pull down his trousers. The moment stretched in a slow breath. The threads twitched around her.

And then she plunged the knife upwards, straight through his head. It pierced the soft skin below his chin and met little resistance until it hit the hard palate of his mouth. But she had loosed the blow with all the force she possessed, and the knife broke through the resistance with a dull popping thud and slid quickly into his brain.

His face was still very close to hers, so she could hear the gurgle of shock in his throat. He loosed a breathless, squealing scream and his hands scrabbled feebly against her. There was blood seeping from his open mouth and his nose, and he gave a wet cough, splattering Aethelflaed's face with it. She flinched and released the handle of the blade, which stayed stuck into his skull like a stake. After a moment, he slid slowly backwards and fell with a sharp thump to the hard ground. He twitched on the ground for several long breaths, but his eyes were dull and unseeing, and soon he was still. Aethelflaed stood over him, her breath heavy and her body tense, watching the death come into his body. And then she retched, and was violently sick into the corner against the wall.

There was no wash water in the chamber, but she took a old rag and used it to wipe the blood from her face and hands. She trembled more intensely than she ever had in her life, the fear still scouring her body and weakening her limbs. But Haesten was dead. He was dead and Aethelflaed was unharmed. And now... _what?_

She could have wept, rocking and holding herself, letting the fear work itself from her body. She wished to. But there was no time. Haesten's men were still outside, oblivious to the fate that had befallen their lord in Aethelflaed's chamber. No doubt he had advised them to stay out of the chamber until he was done claiming his pleasure. And now she stood alone with his corpse. What would they do when they found him? Would they kill her? Take her to Siegfried?

The moment stopped, tensed, and then surged around her, in a flash of fear and true knowing. She saw Erik's face in her mind and felt the breath catch in her throat. It was time to fight their way out, or die trying. It was time to act.

Aethelflaed had saved a small bowl of grease from her last few meals of cold meat and broth. She pulled it out now, from its hidden corner behind her night bucket, and dipped the edge of a rag into it. When Erik had charge of Aethelflaed, Dagfinn had always come in and lit candles for her if she wanted light. There was no flame now, but Haesten had a clump of small leather pouches crowded on his belt, and Aethelflaed rummaged through them until she found a kit for striking sparks. A small loop of iron and a hard piece of quartz nestled together beside a twist of charred tinder. Aethelflaed was unpracticed in the motion, but she had seen it done enough times. She pillowed the tinder in the greased-soaked corner of the rag and then struck the iron against the rock as she held both above the small nest. It took longer than she would have liked, but soon a spark fluttered off of the iron loop and landed on the tinder. And the rag went up quickly in a whooshing burst.

Aethelflaed held the flaming rag tensely as she hurried over to her bed, keeping it away from her body as she climbed to reach the barred window in the corner of the wall. She thrust her hand between the bars and waved her flag one, two, and three times. Then she rushed to put out the rag in the wetness of her night bucket. Night had started to fall, and dusk rose like smoke on the horizon.

It was done, the signal had been given. She could only hope that Audr had seen it, and that no one else had, and that Erik would come. She could only pray that her feeble plan would work.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic violence

Erik was down at the docks when Audr found him. She was breathless and wild-eyed. She had been running and was unable to speak as she stopped up in front of him, her hands pressed to her thighs with her effort. Erik felt his heart speed to match her racing breath. _What had spooked the girl?_

“What is it, Audr? Is it Aethelflaed?”

“Lord...she...Aethelflaed...”

“ _What has happened?_ ” He knew the girl could barely breathe. He regretted his harsh and desperate tone. But he could not help it. “Speak!”

“The signal...” she gasped out. “Lady Aethelflaed has given the signal!”

Erik felt his mind reel into an empty, open space as Audr looked at him with wild, expectant eyes.

“What signal, Audr?”

“The signal!” And then Audr let out a small whimper of horror. “The signal! I told you about the signal, right?”

“Audr, tell me now!”

Audr moaned. Erik was still lost in confusion and fear. “The message was so confusing, I thought I remembered it all.” Audr was raving now. “But I forgot to tell you about the signal!”

Erik tried to calm his racing breath and even the tone of his angry voice. “Just tell me now, Audr. What does the signal mean?”

“It means...it means....” Audr's voice was desperate and hopeless now. “It means that Aethelflaed is in mortal danger. And you are to fight your way to her. Now!”

Erik felt the words as a dull shock. He had not prepared for a fight to the death, not yet. Uhtred was not due to arrive until the next day. Erik had not received a message from the man, and so could only hope that things would go ahead as they had planned. But if the fight was to happen tonight – they would have to flee. They would have to flee, or die trying.

Erik's heart was falling in his chest, even as he mapped out what must be done. Their chances were close to hopeless. He could only hope to take Haesten's men by surprise and flee with Aethelflaed before the alarm had been raised. He wore his leather armor and his sword and ax hung at his belt. He did not have his mail, or his shield, or Dagfinn's spear at his back. But it would be enough. It would have to.

He grasped Audr's shoulder now, making the girl jump, and he spoke low and fiercely to her.

“Audr. You must find the man Gunnar, his ship is docked here. You must be discrete. Tell him that he must be prepared. It is tonight.”

“Yes, Lord.” He knew she would not risk letting him down again. “But Lord, if you are fleeing tonight --”

“What is it, Audr? I have no time.”

“The Lady Aethelflaed said I was to come with you! She promised!” Her words surged out in a breathless rush. Erik's mind was already flying up the long path to the fortress, and the fight that lay within. He had little to spare for Audr in that moment.

“You will stay at the docks,” he said simply. “And when you see us coming, you will cleave to Aethelflaed like your life depends on. I do not know if I will be able to protect you both. You will pray. Pray that we make it out of here alive.”

“Yes, Lord.” But Erik was already surging past her, up the hill, ramping up into a run. Where was Dagfinn? Would Haesten and Siegfried be in the hall? Would he live? Would Aethelflaed live? The questions raced through his mind without answer until his thoughts were lulled and lost in the wordless anticipation of the coming fight.

And that's the moment when the diversion began.

Aethelflaed had waited for what felt like a lifetime in her chamber, with no company but Haesten's blood soaked corpse, before she had realized she needed to change her plan. She could no longer wait, hoping that Erik had received her signal. She could hear the muffled voices of the men in the corridor, jesting and bantering and becoming more curious about Haesten's long presence within. It would not be too long before they entered. She had crouched down to look under the lip of the door and had noticed three pairs of large, leather clad feet. There may have been more men out of sight. But with the right element of surprise, she thought she might be able to outmaneuver three men. _She had no choice anymore_.

Her fear had left her and she worked with a cool and distanced determination as she prepared. She needed to wear something more than her filthy shift, but Haesten's leather armor would be much too large for her. So she took a hide from her small cot, the leather thick and the wool dense and matted. It was not mail, but it might dull the swipe of a blade. It was better than nothing. She wrapped it around her body, crossing it over her torso to form an Ⅹ shape, and fixing it in the back with a length of leather cord from Haesten's belt that she wound around her waist. She braided her hair loosely, winding it and tying it behind her head with rag so that it would not fall into her face. Then she turned her mind to weapons.

Haesten had not brought his ax or his short sword into the chamber with him, but a long knife still hung from his tunic, longer than Audr's kitchen blade. Aethelflaed took both knives and tucked them into her new belt. She had to pull Audr's knife from Haesten's head, with a grimace and a squelching suck of noise. She would have left it there if she didn't feel the tender need to return the love-gifted blade to her friend. So she cleaned it on the edge of Haesten's tunic and carefully re-sheathed it before tucking it into her belt.

She was still barefoot, and had no protection for her arms or legs. There was little she could do for shoes – Haesten's were huge - but she did unwind the long leather wrappings that Haesten had fixed around his ankles and shins. They were long enough that Aethelflaed could cut them with her knife into four even lengths, which she used to wrap around her own ankles and forearms. _A feeble protection_ _._ Just like her feeble plan. But it was better than nothing. So she told herself, again and again.

There was some disturbance outside from the courtyard, a shouted signal and the sound of men moving with frantic determination. Aethelflaed tensed like a startled hare. Was Erik fighting his way to her already? He could never take all the men alone. There was no more time. She grabbed a stool that had been left beside the low table in her chamber. It was a small thing, light enough to wield, but the seat of it was wrought from thick dry oak, and it had a heavy lip that could be driven into a man's head with the right luck. She held the stool by the legs and stood in the hollow behind where the door hinged open. And she waited.

It did not take long. The disturbance in the courtyard reached the men in the corridor quickly. She thought she heard the word “Fire!” shouted between the men, and felt her heart leap in hope and fear at the news. Was this Uhtred's diversion? She could only pray. And then the door swung open, as a man came to deliver the news to Haesten. He strode two paces into the chamber and then stilled, struck at the sight of Haesten's corpse. He seemed paralyzed for a moment. And that's when Aethelflaed swung the stool, aiming it for the back of his skull.

He wore no helmet, and the thick plane of the seat took him right where she had hoped, in the spot where his head met his neck. He screamed in shock and pain and fell dazed to the ground. But he was not alone, and another man was already following him into the chamber, making a lunge for Aethelflaed. She dodged, and grabbed Haesten's long bladed knife from her belt, whipping it from the sheath. The man laughed at her gesture as he blocked her escape with his long body. He stood between Aethelflaed and the door, and she saw another man behind him – the third – and still more of Haesten's men running down the corridor to help subdue the situation. Aethelflaed saw her feeble plan start to whither, and cursed her own hopeless naivety.

But someone else was striding purposefully behind the approaching men and – yes! It was Erik! His face was fierce as he stalked them down the corridor, with a sword in his right hand and an ax in his left. He wore his leather armor, and his wide hide shawl over his shoulders, and he was beautiful as he cut the men down from behind. Aethelflaed felt her heart pulse with love for him then – this wild warrior man who would be hers.

The screams of the men that Erik had cut down reached the two men who cornered Aethelflaed, and they turned in shock, scrambling to meet the new threat. Aethelflaed did not think. She only plunged Haesten's long knife into the back of the man closest to her, on the side of his heart. He made a limp groaning noise as the knife slid between two panels of his leather armor and found its mark. Then he fell, and Aethelflaed removed the blade and let it rest in her hand, streaming blood onto the floor.

She faced Erik now, and they were alone. He had took the other man with a swipe of his sword across the man's throat. The man behind her, the one she had hit with the stool, stirred feebly, and Erik lunged quickly to plunge his sword neatly into his chest. It was brutal and ugly, and the smell of blood and death filled the air. But Aethelflaed could not help the surge of reckless joy that flared through her. She thought she understood now, the battle rush that men spoke of. But most of all, she was free. And Erik was by her side.

He stepped towards her now, and it was the blood in her own body that she felt, pulsing and wildly alive, as they held each other close.

“Aethelflaed.” He looked into her face, held it between his hands.

“You came.” And she smiled, and she wished to kiss him, and she knew he wished it too, but she pulled away. “You cannot kiss me,” she said with a feral laugh. “I smell like Haesten and taste like my own sick.”

Erik looked at her, his eyes wide with concern. “What --”

“I am well.” She answered. “Haesten is dead, and I am well.” She pointed at Haesten's body and Erik seemed to notice it for the first time. He stood in a shocked silence for a moment, and then gave a whoop of gleeful laughter.

“You are not a princess, but a warrior, lady.” And he crushed her close to his chest.

She laughed. “Perhaps I am both.” And Erik smiled at her.

There was a shout from the courtyard, and it seemed to stir them both from the long, slow moment they had found themselves in together. The pulsing tension rose again in Aethelflaed's chest, and Erik looked around, his guard up once more. No more men had come surging around the corner. It seemed they were distracted by the ordeal outside the walls.

“We have to get out of here.” Erik said fervently. “There is a fire in the camp on the Western side of the fortress walls. I think it is Uhtred's diversion. We have to get to the boat, now!”

Aethelflaed's mind reeled with fear and excitement. “We will have to get through the courtyard, and down the field. We will be seen!”

Erik searched around wildly, and quickly pulled a short, torn cloak off of one of the fallen men. He draped in around Aethelflaed, hiding her face and her hair. “It is madness out there,” he explained. “They may not notice.”

Aethelflaed was searching too, and found what she looked for easily. She pulled a short sword from the hand of another fallen man. It was twice the length of Haesten's blade, but not too heavy for her to wield. It had been a long time since she had trained with Steapa in her father's yard, and her sword arm was weak and unpracticed. But she swung it experimentally a few times and felt it sing through the air. It was better than nothing.

Erik smiled at her, but his face was stricken with worry and anticipation. They said nothing, but a long look of need and reckless hope passed between them. And then they turned to flee.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: battle violence 
> 
> Ooh, also this chapter comes with some musical mood inspiration: "Hunting the Wren" by Lankum. Give it a listen if you want, I listened to it a lot while planning and writing this chapter.

It was chaos in the courtyard. Men rushed and yelled, some in panic, some in steadfast determination. The fire had not entered the fortress yet, but the smoke and heat billowed around the Western wall, the wooden stakes of the ramparts already starting to smolder in the rising night. Warriors and servants all seemed bent on finding any moisture they could – pots of dirty wash water and full piss buckets were passed hurriedly and sloshed as the fire fighters worked to dampen the wooden posts.

There was a large camp staged on the other side of the wall, Erik knew, densely packed with the tents and tarps of men who could not fit inside the fortress. Their screams echoed over the wall, and men surged into the fortress through the Western gate, even as those within tried to fight their way out, fearing a fiery trap. The smell of smoke started to saturate the air, choking Erik's breath.

But the docks lay beyond the Southern gate, and there was less chaos there, although many people inside the fortress had started streaming towards the South, avoiding the traffic at the Western door. Some carried water as they went, their minds turned to try to save the fortress from the outside. Some merely fled.

Erik wanted to crush Aethelflaed close against him, but feared that he would be recognized and raise suspicion, smuggling a mysteriously cloaked figure from the heat of the flames. So he strode purposefully, as if in deliberate command, a Lord of the fortress attending to the crisis. But he grasped Aethelflaed's hand tightly as she wound behind him, his skin slick with sweat.

Erik looked around desperately for Dagfinn, hoping the man was safe and would find them before they needed to leave on the boat. And that's when he noticed Siegfried, standing near the Western gate on an overturned barrel, bellowing at men to put out the flames that licked around the barricades now. Erik looked away as quickly as he could, but not before Siegfried seemed to feel his brother's eyes on him. He looked up, and for one searing moment, their eyes locked in a fierce glance. A wide unspoken world of love and pain seemed to stretch between them in that moment. Erik saw his brother's eyes widen and crease with shock and rage. But then Erik turned away, and surged through the Southern gate, Aethelflaed's hand tight within his own.

Things were even worse beyond the gate. The camp outside the Southern wall was smaller, but a fringe of tents and makeshift stables still edged and ringed their path. The fire in the Western camp was spreading, flaring up the simple shelters one by one like a string of beacon fires along a ridge. Horses and cattle screamed in the panic, their shrill voices like demons in the night. The darkness was pierced by blinding brightness and the air clouded with smoke. It was hard to see anything now. But beyond the fringe of tents, there was a clear and open slope to the docks, a free field left empty to defend in the case of attack from the water. Once they reached it, they would be free of the chaos, and they would also be desperately exposed.

Erik felt his brother's grim stare following him, and he knew that Siegfried would not let them go unpursued. So it came as little surprise when he heard the call behind him.

“It's the Lord Erik!” The booming voice cut through the screams. “It's the Lord Erik and the Princess! They're getting away!!” There was a surge behind them, as men turned wildly to look for them, and a press of warriors tried to force through the panic-riddled occupants of the camp. _Siegfried's men_. Erik ran then, and Aethelflaed's hand slipped from his own, but he heard the small determined noise her breath behind him as he pushed through the crowd. And then they were out, and the open plain stretched before them to the water.

Aethelflaed could not breathe. She could not see. She gripped Erik's hand with all the strength she had, the scavenged short sword held tightly in the other. She could barely even hear now. The wrenching noise of the fortress courtyard and the surrounding camps had dulled to a faint ringing din in her ears. But she heard the voice of the man who called them out, and she felt Erik lurch forward into a run, as his hand slipped slickly from her grasp.

But suddenly the crush eased, and there was a long open stretch of marsh grass in front of them. And she ran. Others ran too, fleeing the chaos of the camp for the safety of the docks. But there were much fewer people surrounding them now. It was a relief, but still she knew they stuck out like sore thumbs on the plain. The ragged cloak that had covered Aethelflaed's head whipped off as she ran, and she turned to see that four men had broken from the crush of the Southern camp and followed them now in bitter pursuit. She felt a cry of panic rise in her throat and wished that Erik's hand was still within her own. He ran a pace ahead of her, but he turned now, and his eyes widened, then narrowed, at the sight of the pursuing men.

“Erik, we will be overpowered!” She cried, but she spun to look at what he gazed at and noticed that one of the men was Dagfinn. He streamed towards them down the hill with his spear in hand and his cloak behind him,

“Dagfinn!” Erik gasped the name with joy, and now the man had joined their small group, but the others were right behind him. Dagfinn turned and met them, brandishing his spear, and the shock of it sent one man reeling backwards. The second lunged for Erik, his sword raised, but Aethelflaed stepped between them, all fear lost in the wild moment. Erik cried out, but the man stalled his strike, startled and confused and unwilling to wield his sword against Siegfried's silver. Aethelflaed made use of his momentary pause and slashed her short sword clean across his throat with one lithe strike. He fell, and as he died, Dagfinn finished the first man with his spear.

But the third man was quicker thinking, and he parried now with Erik, as more men broke from the clump at the top of the hill and streamed towards them. Aethelflaed's heart leapt as she saw Uhtred among them. _Uhtred was here_! And in that desperate moment, Aethelflaed believed they would be free.

Uhtred cut down men as he came, but still more surged out of the crowd, and Erik still fought the third man who had reached them first. Erik struck a blunt blow against the man's helmet with his ax, and Aethelflaed thought the man would fall, but then he lunged forward, quick as a fish, his sword outstretched.

The moment stretched and slowed then, as she watched the man's sword rip into Erik's side, in the tender place between his arm and his chest, unguarded by his leather armor. Even as Dagfinn took the man from behind with his spear...even as Uhtred and his men reached them, fighting the ongoing sluice of warriors that streamed towards them now like wolves towards a kill...even as Uhtred gripped her and shook her, she could not take her eyes away from Erik, as he fell slowly to the ground.


	29. Chapter 29

Erik was on the ground, he thought. The world around him seemed to spin disconcertingly, the noise of the battle a muffled slurring roar. But the pain was clear, wrenching, deep and wicked, his chest ripped open, his life spilling out into the marsh grass. He did not know who surrounded him now, friend or foe. He could only gasp a hollow cry into the night.

But then she was there – _Aethelflaed_ – she was there and she lived, and her hands smoothed over his face.

“Erik.” Her voice was a low moan, rent with fear and grief. “Erik!” Her cry seemed to tear him further, so that he spilled out his love as well as his blood.

His voice was thin, barely audible, but she leaned close to hear his dry whisper. “W-was this yo-our plan all along....Lad-y? T-to love...me and l-lose me?” He tried to laugh as he said it, but it only came out as a grim stuttered cough.

“No, Erik. No. You are not lost, Erik. You are not lost.” And she spoke with such confidence then, as if trying to convince herself. “Uhtred!” She yelled.

 _Uhtred was there?_ Erik had not seen him. But yes, now the man's face swam in front of his, smoke streaked and battle weary.

“Lady, we must go,” he was saying. “We must go now, my men cannot hold them.”

“We will take him, Uhtred.” Aethelflaed was a commander now.

“There is no time, Lady. Let him go to Valhalla. It is a good death.”

Aethelflaed's face was like a flaming sword in the night. “Uhtred, I cannot lift him alone, you will take him, Uhtred. Now.”

Erik could hear the battle sounds as Uhtred's men held off the coming warriors. Erik felt the wrench and heard his own scream as Uhtred and Dagfinn lifted him. He felt the blood that pooled against his skin, drenched his clothes. He heard the sound of hurried feet on the hollow docks, and Gunnar's voice, low and hoarse in the night, calling “Quick! Over here!”

But he could not see Aethelflaed, or hear the quiet noise of her breath, or feel the warmth of her hand in his.

He tried to speak, would have spoken if he could. _Leave me_ , he would have said. _Leave me, and make sure she is safe_. But he could not speak. And so he twisted, writhing in Uhtred and Dagfinn's arms, and the pain of it was like a blow to his head, so his vision became hazy and dim.

But he could see her then, a golden woman in the rush light, her face and gear streaked with blood, her hair loosened around her lovely face. And he could see the men behind her, and her own look of terror as they caught her, and the scream that seemed frozen on her face as her eyes burned into his. And then the darkness took him.


	30. Interlude

It has been a long night. My throat is dry with the telling, and my head grows weary. I must take my rest, or the speech will begin to stall on my tongue.

Do not worry. The story is not at an end. It will continue. It already does.

You see now, how the threads have been cut and re-spun? How the weavers have shifted the weft, and now something new has been created? So the Lady was recaptured and her lover escaped. _With his life?,_ you ask. Only time will tell.

It is hard, I know. I am never sure what people really want in a story. Do they want the happy ending? Or the bitter tragedy? Happiness is simple and easy, it is true. But in tragedy are people truly wrought and revealed. Or so the storytellers would say. So our lovers must walk the path of tragedy, for now.

_Why could they not have succeeded?_ , you ask. _Why could they not have gotten away, and lived out their days, peaceful and unknown?_

You see, some fates are too strong to cut and reshape. Our Lady is right, and she is not destined to be a ship's woman or farm wife. She is destined to be a leader of men, a Lady of the Mercians, a woman remembered and spoken about a thousand years and more into the future. That is not a fate one can simply throw away. Not even for a true-forged love.

And so we must see where the journey takes her now.

Fate goes ever as it must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is the end of "Hostage of Fate." Sorry for the terrible cliff hanger. But don't worry, the story continues. I'm already maybe a third of the way done writing Part Two, called "Fate's Lady". I wrote almost the entirety of "Hostage of Fate" before posting any of it, but I may start posting "Fate's Lady" before it is complete. It will mean longer wait times between chapters. Either way, I'll post the first chapters soon-ish so y'all can get off that cliff. Thanks for reading and commenting, as always, and let me know what you think of the saga so far, if you haven't yet.


End file.
